Magic
by Aalon
Summary: AU story set in Season 4, at the end of Linchpin. That's really all I want to say - I hope you will follow me down the rabbit hole for this one. Strong themes - hence the rating.
1. Chapter 1

**Magic: Chapter 1**

**A/N:** Set Season 4, just after Linchpin. No more summary than that - I hope you follow me down the rabbit hole.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**February 22, 2012 at the Old Haunt**_

Rick and Kate sit in the 'assigned' booth toward the back of the Old Haunt. Kevin and Javi are there also along with a few other detectives and patrol officers. Lanie is in the women's restroom for about the third time tonight. He's closed the old pub, with a sign hanging outside that simply says "Private Party Tonight … Join us Tomorrow." They are celebrating tonight.

The case is over, and to say that a real catastrophe has been averted is no exaggeration. This one is right out of an espionage novel that even Richard Castle could not write.

For her part – Kate didn't like Sophia Turner, and it had little to do with her turning out to be a traitor. It went far more personal than that.

Sophia gave her a glimpse of a real woman - not some bimbo - with real intellect and real beauty who could have a relationship with Richard Castle. A woman, drop dead gorgeous, with depth, and wit, and charm and a brain. The bimbos? She abhors them. The intelligent ones? No, those she fears.

Her secret fear is not just that Castle will find out about her lie, which grows older, spreading deeper roots with every passing day, but he will find one of these intelligent ones.

For his part – Sophia is a reminder to Richard Castle that boy, he sure can pick em! Meredith, Gina, Sophia – all gorgeous women, all very intelligent, and all very ruthless in their own way – and he never sees it coming until it is too late. He glances over at Kate who sits next to him – her eyes a bit glassier due to the celebratory drinks tonight, her speech a little slurred.

Is he kidding himself again? Is he missing it again? Is Kate Beckett just another in the long line of beautiful, intelligent and highly selfish and ultimately ruthless women that he falls for again and again, never seeing the truth until it is far too late?

He takes a long swallow of the sweet spiced rum and coke in front of him, and slams the glass down probably just a little too loudly, drawing a look from her. A glance at his watch, and he decides the night is done. It's just after midnight, and the days have been long.

It is his club after all and even though in reality, the night is still young, he knows when enough is enough for everyone, and they've hit that wall. He gives a silent signal to their waiter. Minutes later, Russ, his head bartender is now shouting above the den that it's closing time. The music dies down, the lights turn up, as Castle and his friends gather their belongings.

They walk out into the cold February air, and this late at night the air is cold and biting. Everyone has had a lot to drink. Kate is holding on a little closer, a little tighter than usual. He tries not to enjoy this too much, but he fails miserably. He loves the smell of her hair as it nestles close to his nostrils. He loves the electric touch of her fingers as they bite into his arm.

A street magician is set up just outside the bar, offering his wares to the few people still passing by. It strikes Castle that it is very late – just after midnight now, and even though he's closed the Old Haunt early, it's still late for this guy to be out, isn't it?

Then he notices – the 'he' is actually a 'she'. Her face is painted white, much like a street mime – with heavy black eyeliner – yet she speaks easily enough.

"A card for you, sir – surely you have time for one card this evening?"

It's late, but he's in somewhat of a good mood. So he takes a card.

The magician turns to Kate now, offering a card to her.

"A card for the lady? Just one card?"

Beckett reaches for the card and as she grabs one, the young woman suddenly reshuffles the entire deck with impressive speed. For Kate, the cold air is waking her up, slapping the slur off of her quickly.

Esposito is hailing a cab for he and Lanie, while Kevin Ryan stands next to Castle, looking over his shoulder at the scene unfolding before him.

After shuffling, the magician smiles coyly, her back to her audience while she looks back over her shoulder.

"The writer takes the 'Father' card, and the detective takes the 'Murder' card."

Both Castle and Beckett sober up immediately, the effects of the hours of alcohol falling away off them like rain.

They've been through enough to know there are no coincidences – and anything that looks like a coincidence usually isn't good.

"How did you know I'm a writer?" he asks, reaching out to the young woman. "And how do you know Detective Beckett? Who are you?"

The magician spins away from his grasp, laughing. She suddenly hurls the remaining deck of cards into the air, and immediately an explosion of light and smoke blinds her audience as they stand along the curbside. When the smoke finally dissipates and their eyes readjust, it is Ryan – bending over and examining the cards still floating to the ground – who speaks first.

"Castle. Rick, you need to see this"

Rick bends over and notices the playing cards strung out across the sidewalk, alongside the curb and just a few feet into the street. Kate notices him visibly pale, and her attention is immediately drawn to one of the cards.

Alexis.

Each card has a picture of Alexis Castle. The same smiling picture of Castle's teenage daughter adorns each playing card.

And each card has a question printed under her picture.

"_It's after 10pm . . . do you know where your child is?"_

His heart skips as he fumbles with his phone, desperately trying to get it out of his coat pocket. His fingers don't seem to be working properly.

Kate – for her part – is now fully sober, in full cop mode, squatting next to Ryan, holding one of the cards in now trembling hands.

Finally, he extracts his phone from his inner coat pocket, and finds Alexis' picture and hits the button to dial.

One ring.

Two rings.

"_Please, God, let her be there – let her be all right." _

Three rings.

"Dad?"

His heart sinks, as he can hear the fear in her voice. No, it is something beyond fear. It's terror. And it breaks him, as he falls to his knees on the pavement.

"Pumpkin! Pumpkin where are you?"

The call disconnects.

That's when she notices it. A box – a gift-wrapped box, wrapped in bright metallic red wrapping paper, topped with a stringy white bow. She picks it up, and – sure enough - his name is on the gift card attached.

He sees her with the box, and struggles to get it unwrapped and open, before Ryan takes it from his trembling hands, and unwraps it for him.

The groan – it is a half cry, a half whimper – that escapes from Castle's lips is one that Kate and Ryan and Esposito nearby will never forget. His hands fumble with the long strands of red hair that fill the small box, with a small envelope. He opens the envelope to reveal a driver's license card.

Alexis.

His screams echo throughout the street, as his friends stand paralyzed, unable to move to comfort him.

Beckett's phone rings – she barely hears it over Castle's screams. She doesn't recognize the number but instinct tells her it is related. Of course it is . . .

"Beckett" she answers, only a hint of nerves showing through.

"Ah . . . Nikki. It is so nice to hear from you again."


	2. Chapter 2

**Magic: Chapter 2**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**February 22, 2012 outside the Old Haunt**_

"Dunn!"

She gets the name out, and her voice is stronger than she feels, thankfully. Inside, her stomach has grabbed her heart and is pile-driving it through her chest. For a moment, she feels as though she has just been shot – again.

"_But it can't be him!"_

The moment passes just as quickly as she hears the voice on the other end begin to speak.

"Oh, Nikki . . . you have no idea how it warms . . . my heart . . . to see that you remember me. Truly, you have no idea at all."

A glance over at Richard Castle, still on his knees sifting through strands of his daughter's hair . . .

"_Oh God, what has this madman done . . ."_ she thinks to herself.

"I wish I were there to see your face, Nikki," Dunn tells her. "And your writer friend . . . Oh . . . I am taking . . . great joy in imagining his reaction."

"Where is she, you sick son of a –"

"Now Nikki. That's no way for you and I to become . . . reacquainted. That is not . . . you. Don't step out of character for their benefit."

She places her fingers across the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes, trying to focus. He's right, damn him to hell. She can't lose control right now. This has become a case. She needs her wits, and she needs to think clearly.

Damn the tequila.

"_Come on, clear! Clear!"_ she wills herself, shaking the final droplets of inebriation away, allowing her adrenalin to do its job.

"I don't know what your game is, Dunn, but let her go," she speaks, softly – but not softly enough – as she catches Castle's head yank in her direction. "She is not important to you."

"Oh, but that is where . . . you are so wrong . . . _detective_." He spits the title out, almost derisively. And his cadence in speaking is different. For a moment she wonders if this is even the same man. After all, he is in prison. Or at least, he is supposed to be.

"Alexis Castle is . . . very important to me. To my show."

"Show? What show?" she asks, and now she is fighting off a wide-eyed Richard Castle who is reaching for her phone, almost pushing her off the curb in the process.

"Castle, stop!" she hisses with her hand covering the microphone of her cell phone.

"Beckett! Is it Dunn? Is it him?" he asks, his eyes both glistening with tears and burning with fury, his voice parched. He doesn't look – or sound – like the man she knows.

She turns her back on him, moving a step into the street, while waving Esposito over to help her contain the distraught father. Esposito is on Castle within seconds, and Ryan a second behind him. Together, they move the emotional Castle away, back toward the front door of the Old Haunt.

"Let go of me, dammit! This is my daughter. _My daughter_," he cries, his arms flailing – and mostly missing – the more experienced detectives who find avoiding his waving arms easy enough.

"A magic show, Nikki," Dunn answers. "The best kind. The personal kind."

"What are you talking about, Dunn?"

"You will find out . . . soon enough. C'mon _detective,_" he spits again. "Patience is . . . a virtue. Some things are worth . . . waiting for."

His cadence is throwing her off, and she begins to realize that it is probably intentional. Much of what Scott Dunn showed almost two years ago – has it been two years? - was well-planned, well-thought out, highly strategized, and ruthlessly executed. Anything – everything – the man does is planned, intentional, purposed.

Before she can respond, he ends the conversation.

"We will talk soon, Nikki."

And he's gone.

Her mind is racing now – torn in different lanes between the psycho who has just hung up on her and her distraught partner who is now – is he really glaring at her right now? The look in his eyes – she has not seen this before.

"What did he say?" Castle asks loudly, finally freeing himself roughly of the two detectives – his friends – who have loosened their grip on him once they see she is no longer on the phone.

"Let me think, Castle," she yells back, shaking her head. "Let me get this together, so I can tell you."

"Where's the girl ? The card trick girl?" Esposito asks, stepping toward Castle.

"Gone," Ryan answers, stepping up behind him. "There are cameras here in the area, though." Turning to Castle, he adds, "You had them installed when you bought the place. They will show us where she went."

Castle nods, his anguish now uncomfortably subdued, and replaced with a simmering fury. His breathing has slowed down, and his voice seems to have dropped an octave, if that is possible.

He walks to Beckett, and stands roughly a foot from her face. She's never noticed how tall and imposing he can be until this moment right now.

"What – did – he – say?" he asks her, with a controlled anger just barely contained that causes her to step back.

"He said that Alexis is important to him, for a magic show," she responds, pushing a strand of hair away from her face, and she can see the same confusion in his eyes that she herself felt.

"He said it was the best kind of magic show. Personal," she concludes, knowing that 'best' in Dunn's world means trouble of the largest kind for them.

Castle turns and takes a few steps away, walking down the sidewalk. Of all the cases they had worked, of all the nut-jobs they have faced and taken down, none have scared him more than Dunn.

Dunn was – is – a villian right out of a comic book, as far as Castle is concerned. He created secret identities, he stole identities, he killed just so he would have stories to write, and he had no remorse over any collateral damage he inflicted. In fact, collateral damage made the story better. He has moved all around the country – who knows, the world for all they know – killing, and leaving confusion and deception in his wake. Killing is not personal for him, it is not about revenge, or greed.

It's just a game.

And Castle, himself, met this psycho at a book signing. For all he knows, Castle may have set the man on his course, with his off-handed advice to 'write about what you know' to the man he simply took to be a fan and fledgling author.

Castle gathers himself, closing his eyes with a deep breath of the cold air, then turns and heads back into the Old Haunt. He walks past a surprised Russ, who wonders why his boss has come back into the bar, looking none-too-pleased, by the way.

"Probably the detective," the bartender muses to himself, shaking his head. "No one screws Rick up like that broad," he thinks, as he continues to wipe down just washed drinking glasses.

The "broad" in question walks in seconds behind him, followed by a couple of the other detectives he recognizes as Ryan and Javi. Placing the glass down, he now moves alongside Kate – still behind the bar but walking with her.

"What's going on, detective?"

She doesn't answer, but Esposito chimes in, as he continues walking.

"Video surveillance. Need to take a look," he says, glancing at Russ while following Kate and Rick to the office in the back where he assumes the monitor for viewing is located. Because he has been looking at the bartender while responding, he doesn't see that everyone in front of him has stopped walking, and so he runs into a now stationary Kevin Ryan, Kate Beckett and Richard Castle.

Castle has brought the train to a halt, as his phone has buzzed and he sees an incoming text.

From Alexis' phone.

He clicks on the text, and an image appears. He fumbles with the phone, almost dropping it in the process. A groan escapes momentarily, and just as quickly, is stifled. His eyes go dark again.

"What is it?" Kate asks, now finding the appearance of her partner nothing short of frightening.

He hands her the phone, a quizzical look painting his face. "Not what. Who," he responds.

The picture is one of Alexis. Her hair is cropped close, the kind of haircut that you can tell was done rapidly, with scissors, and without any thought of appearance. It is galling, but not a complete surprise since he has just minutes before been sifting through the remnants of her beautiful, long red hair.

But it's not just Alexis. She is not alone. A younger girl with reddish-brown hair – or what used to be a full head of the stuff - is next to her, looking far more afraid than Alexis.

"Who is that with Alexis?" Ryan asks, looking over Kate's shoulder.

"I have no idea. I've never seen her before."

"Maybe he's kidnapping girls at random," Esposito wonders aloud, but then corrects himself. "Scratch that – Alexis isn't random. This other girl means something."

"But what?" Ryan wonders.

"He said it's personal," Beckett offers.

Castle, who has moved across the hall into the office, is now sitting at the desk, punching keys on the keyboard to bring the surveillance system to life. He stops suddenly, dark eyes punching Kate in the gut.

"You said that he said it's personal?" he states, half asking Beckett the question but already knowing the answer, and fearing what it means.

"Yes, he said –"

"Dear God," he states, his face morphing between anger and anguish, as stands quickly and reaches into his pocket for his phone before realizing he does not have it.

"Give it to me," he states, his monotone voice lowering the temperature in the office. She hands him the phone and he turns and scrolls through his list of contacts before punching an image. He waits a few seconds, listening to the ringing.

"_Please God, no…"_ he thinks out loud.

"Hello?"

"Jordan. This is Rick. Richard Castle. Where is your daughter?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Magic: Chapter 3**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Still February 22, 2012 inside the Old Haunt**_

"Castle?"

"Jordan – this is important. Where is your daughter?"

"Jenna? What's going on Castle?"

Jordan Shaw is understandably surprised, since it has been almost two years since she has heard from Richard Castle. The case with Scott Dunn was – while not the most horrific case for the FBI agent – it was not exactly her typical case either. She'd been after Dunn for some time, and it was only with the help of Kate Beckett and her tagalong writer, Richard Castle, that she had finally discovered how long and wide the Scott Dunn net of destruction had been cast.

And in that time, Richard Castle had proven to be more than just a 'tagalong' writer. He'd proven loyal, excitable, uplifting . . . all things you could say about a good dog, as she had mused to herself back then.

And he'd proven to be a few other things. Inquisitive, intelligent, with a quick wit and a humble nature. Combinations pretty difficult to find in a human being nowadays.

But there had been one other thing the fed had noticed about Richard Castle – something she wondered if even the woman he not-so-secretly pined for even fully appreciated. For all of his wild and imaginative theories – that Jordan knew he threw out for fun and shock value – Richard Castle had an instinct that was eerily on-target more often than not.

So, when this man – this Richard Castle – who she has not heard from in a couple of years calls out of the blue asking where her daughter is – well, the fear that is gripping Jordan Shaw's chest and squeezing right now is unimaginable.

"Jordan – I know it's been a while, but we don't have time, just trust me on this," he tells her. "Where is Jenna?"

"She's spending the night at a friend's house –"

"Verify that she is there, Jordan," Castle interrupts.

"Castle, what's going –"

"Dammit, Shaw, just do what I'm asking –"

"Okay, Okay – give me a minute to call you back."

She clicks off, and Castle stands against the wall, staring at the phone, as if willing it to ring will actually cause her to call back faster. The seconds tick by.

"You think he's taken Jordan's daughter?" Kate asks, placing her hand on Castle's arm.

"That _would_ be personal," he replies, not looking at her, not looking at Ryan or Esposito. His focus is completely on the phone in his hand, as he shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

"_Please . . . let me be wrong . . ."_

It's taking too long. It's been a couple of minutes now. More than enough time to get ahold of her daughter, or at least the parents of the friend to confirm everything is fine.

"Castle, take a look at this," Esposito says. Javier is sitting at the desk, starting at the monitor Castle had vacated to retrieve his phone and call Shaw. Ryan and Kate move alongside Castle as he steps back toward Esposito.

The young woman – their street magician – is clearly visible in the camera view. They watch as she tosses the cards in the air – along with some type of incendiary device that causes an explosion of light and smoke. They watch themselves – on the monitor – bending, turning away, covering their eyes in the five or six seconds that it takes for a black van to move into position – door open. They watch as the lithe young woman launches herself into the van – which has slowed down just enough to catch it's new passenger – then the van speeds off into the night.

"There are other camera views ahead from the city surveillance units – we can see if we can catch the license plate," Esposito says.

"Call it in now," Kate states. "Too much time has passed already."

Turning to Castle, she quickly says, "We'll find it."

Castle doesn't say a word. Instead, he walks back toward the back wall. He stares at his phone – specifically at the text from Alexis' phone. The image of Alexis, and the young girl he is now sure will turn out to be Jenna Shaw.

His finger taps softly on Alexis' face in the image. Her hair is coarsely, brutally chopped. The innocence he worked so hard to ensure was forever there is gone from her eyes. His eyes mist, and a single tear stains his phone display as he ponders the damage already done to his daughter; wondering where she is; wondering how long she has been gone; wondering if he will ever see her alive again.

Scott Dunn wasn't one to leave witnesses.

He left bodies.

And that was after taunting the police – that was often _before_ he killed.

He feels Kate approaching before she reaches him. She places her head along his shoulder, and he allows his head to drop, settling atop hers.

Her stomach lurches as she feels – not hears – but _feels_ the sob rattling inside her partner. She squeezes her eyes shut. Knowing there is little they can do just yet. Feeling helpless. But knowing that right now it's going to take a cop – not a distraught parent – to catch Dunn.

But she, too, knows Dunn's pattern. A pattern of bodies. She starts making mental notes, prioritizing and compartmentalizing.

Step one is going to be to verify that this is indeed Dunn. A call to the federal prison in Chicago will take care of that.

Step two will be to get the images on Castle's phone to police experts to verify their authenticity. No need running down a rabbit hole over forged or photo-shopped pictures. These pictures are either evidence or they aren't.

Lots of things to do, and they are starting to take their order in her mind – but right now, the closeness, the physical proximity with Castle is just as important as these other things. She knows that she needs to be here for him – and not just as a cop.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Castle's ringing phone. All four of them jump – startled at the expected ring – and Castle answers on the first ring.

"Jordan, what –"

"There was no answer, Castle!" Jordan exclaims, and his heart sinks. He knows. And he knows she knows, because it isn't the calm, almost smirking Agent Shaw speaking to him right now. It's Jordan Shaw, the woman a young girl refers to as "Mommy", and he recognizes himself in her voice.

"Tom and I are on our way over there, but it's after 11 o'clock – someone should have answered and I tried Jenna's phone, Joe's phone, Sarah's phone –"

"Jordan . . ." he pauses, as if contemplating whether or not this is the proper course of action at this particular moment. Kate Beckett listens in on the conversation as Castle has put the call on his speakerphone. Kate, well in tune with her writer partner as is often the case – knows where his mind is wandering, and she touches his shoulder, catching his attention – then nods her head.

"She needs to know – she needs to know all of it, Castle," she says.

He nods in agreement.

"You're right. You're right."

Turning his attention back to the woman on the phone, he continues. "Jordan, I am going to text you something . . . something you need to see."

Jordan can hear the break – the pain – in Castle's voice, which frightens her all the more. For the first time in the past five minutes, she begins to realize that she only has a piece of a horror puzzle in her hands, and that the other pieces are getting ready to materialize.

"Castle . . . Rick, what is going on?" she asks softly.

Castle can hear the car engine starting, and Tom's excited and anguished words in the background that he cannot quite make out.

"I just sent it, Jordan," he tells her.

Seconds pass, and he hears the anguished scream of Tom Shaw in the background, and the muffled groan from his wife, who, he assumes, has her hand over her mouth, stifling the scream of her own.

He glances at Kate, who now joins the conversation.

"Jordan, this is Kate Beckett. It's Dunn, Jordan. It's Scott Dunn."


	4. Chapter 4

**Magic: Chapter 4**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Still the evening of February 22, 2012, now in Chicago, Illinois**_

Tom and Jordan Shaw reach the Coulter home in just under two minutes. Joe and Sarah Coulter live just a few streets away, in the same neighborhood as the Shaws. Their daughters attend the same school, in the same class, and – as best friends - spend much of their time together. With Jordan out of town more often than she would like, she has always found comfort in the fact that the two families are so close, and that Tom has back up there for Jenna if anything ever comes up.

Tom gets to the door first, and rings the doorbell, as Jordan tries calling them from her cell phone one more time. There is no answer for either one of them. Not that they expected anything different.

Telling herself she has probable cause – and not really caring whether she does or not – Jordan finds a rock and bashes in the upper section of the front window, allowing her to unlock the lower section, as she and Tom climb through the broken glass.

She is immediately struck that no alarm has sounded this late in the evening. Not good at all.

"I will take the upstairs, you take downstairs," she tells her husband, but quickly realizes that there could be danger in the house, and she changes her mind. "Never mind – stay with me, we should stay together."

After a quick sweep downstairs proves fruitless, she takes the stairs two at a time, her gun drawn, with Tom running up the steps behind her.

They reach the landing and she glances quickly in both directions, as Tom joins her. They both seem to simultaneously hear the muffled sounds emanating from the master bedroom, and Jordan bursts through the door, and finds herself aiming her weapon at Joe and Sarah Coulter, who both sit tied hand and foot to chairs, their mouths taped shut with duct tape. Across from them, a very frightened Beth is similarly taped – hand, feet and mouth – to a third chair.

Thank God they are safe. But the euphoria is short-lived – only seconds perhaps.

There is no sign of Jenna.

"What happened, Joe?" asks Tom as he and his wife untie their friends.

"We came home from the pizza parlor and they were waiting for us," Joe responds.

"They?" asks Jordan, surprised to hear them speak of more than one person. Dunn didn't work with others. That was never a part of his MO.

"Three mimes – or they looked like mimes. Didn't talk," Joe responds. "Painted faces, the works."

"All women, all three of them," adds Sarah Coulter, fiercely hugging her young daughter who holds on tightly to her mother.

"And they had swords, for God's sakes," Joe continues.

"No guns?" Jordan asks.

"No. Just these weird, short swords," Sarah adds, "and they seemed pretty proficient with them."

That explains the thin, almost paper thin slice alongside Joe's cheek. There's only a hint of blood. Obviously they knew what they were doing with the weapons.

"Where is Jenna?" Jordan now asks, with an edge creeping into her voice.

"Jo, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Jo – we tried to keep her, we tried –"

"What happened, Sarah," Jordan asks again, a little harder and more harshly this time.

"They took Jenna," Sarah responds. "We tried to hold on to her, but . . . they had those swords, and one of them sliced Joe – it happened so fast –"

"What did they do with my daughter?" Jordan asks, now all pretense gone.

"They took her, Jo," replies Joe Coulter. "They told us that you would be coming, and that they had a magic trick for you – whatever that means."

"A magic trick?" Jordan questions, her stomach churning. "You are sure you heard that right." It's a question, but she offers it as a statement of fact.

"Called it the Talking Heads," replies Sarah.

"What?"

"The magic trick. They said it was the Talking Heads magic trick," Sarah confirms again.

"Then they said again that you would be here soon," Joe adds.

"When was this?" Jordan asks. "How long ago?"

"Hell, Jo, I don't know – it's been what now, four, five hours. We went to dinner early tonight so we could get home to watch a movie with the girls."

"Did they mention anyone else?" Jordan asks.

"No," replies Sarah.

"They didn't mention a Scott Dunn?"

"No – they only told us to expect you, and to tell you about the magic trick," Joe answers. "They were very specific and insistent about that, now that I think about it."

Satisfied that they know nothing about a Scott Dunn, yet heartbroken that they have no more information about their daughter, Jordan motions to her husband for them to leave. They need to find their daughter, and there's nothing more to do here.

"I'm calling the local federal office," she tells Joe and Sarah. "They will have someone here within the half hour. In the meantime, you three stay put here in the house."

She and Tom head down the stairs, followed by the Coulters. Jordan turns back, still on the stairs, as an afterthought.

"I'm glad you are safe, sweetie," she says to young Beth, and she sees the emotion now pouring down the faces of her friends, who realize how close they have been to a brush with death – and who also realize that perhaps their good friend is not going to be quite so lucky.

Jordan – trying desperately to be in 'agent mode', fights the tears that pound her eyes from the inside. She can make it to the door; she can make it to the car. She has to.

She and Tom leave the house, shutting the door behind them, and half jog toward their car when Jordan's legs begin to give out. Fortunately, her husband is there to catch her.

"I've got you, babe – I've got you," he says, his voice now breaking, fighting back sobs. He opens the passenger door, guiding her, helping her to slide in without falling. Sitting, she places her head in her hands, as he quickly jogs to the driver's side and slides in himself.

"Oh God, Tom . . . oh God –"

Her grief is interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. Probably Beckett, checking in. Makes sense, as they are undoubtedly waiting for an update in New York.

She pulls the phone from her purse, wiping her nose and stifling sniffles, fighting to compose herself before answering. She notices now, however, that the phone number is not one she recognizes. Both fear and anticipation choke her, as she can only hope that this call gives them news – good news – about their daughter.

She clicks ANSWER on her phone, lifting the phone to her ear, and is about to say hello. Immediately, music begins to play in her ear – a familiar tune from years and years ago - a male voice singing.

_Watch out - You might get what you're after_

_Cool babies - Strange but not a stranger._

_I'm an ordinary guy - Burning down the house._

Her face works itself into a puzzled squint – as the lyrics take her back a couple of decades. It hits her within seconds. She recognizes the lyrics from an old Talking Heads song, and suddenly the puzzle pieces fall into place.

Talking Heads.

Magic trick.

Burning down the house.

Suddenly, she hears a clown laughing in her receiver, replacing the music. Just as suddenly, the clown laughing stops, replaced by a voice she hoped to never hear again.

A voice that is laughing.

"Hello, Jordan . . ."

_Burning down the house!_

"Shit!"

She drops the phone, opening the car door and launching herself out of the car, and is able to take two steps toward the house before the explosion blows her backward. Dazed and laid out on the ground, she fights to stay conscious. Barely able to lift her head, she sees that the entire second floor of the house is gone from the blast, and the entire house is now in full blaze.

"_Sarah . . . Joe . . ."_

For a moment she sees a blurred vision of her husband hovering over her before the blackness finally wins, and swallows her whole.


	5. Chapter 5

**Magic: Chapter 5**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Just after midnight, morning of February 23, 2012, Chicago, Illinois**_

"Damn, Jordan . . . I'm glad you're all right," Richard Castle tells her. She's got him on speakerphone as she sits in the ambulance on the mobile gurney there. She's too tired and her arm hurts too much to just hold the phone up to her ear.

"Define 'all right' Castle," she says. "Right now I feel like anything but."

"I know how you feel," he says quietly.

"I know you do, Rick," she says just as softly, suddenly a kindred spirit with the writer who is hundreds of miles away in New York.

The fire in the house, some hundred yards away, is now out, the house left a smoldering hunk of wreckage. Not surprisingly there were no survivors. Joe and Sarah are gone. God, little Beth, gone, also. All from this mad dog she thought she had put down for good.

"I hate to impose right now, Jordan –"

"It's no imposition, Castle," she interrupts. "Nothing is more important at this point."

"True," he offers. "Obviously you and I are being targeted right now. For all we know, Beckett and anyone else might be on his list as well."

"It would make sense for Kate to be on this list, given his previous obsession over her," Jordan agrees. "I wonder why –"

"Don't," Castle says quickly. "Don't go down that path, Jordan. For all we know, she's the next one to get a phone call or a picture or video or whatever," he finishes.

"I know, I know," she says. "I'm just . . ."

"I know," he says.

They are both quiet on the phone, both lost in their thoughts, in their respective cities.

Kate stands next to Castle in the living room of his loft. They had considered going to the precinct, but as Esposito wisely pointed out, there is nothing to suggest that Alexis is the lone target of Dunn. Immediately, Castle had thought of his mother. Kate had called for a patrol car to swing by the loft and ensure Martha's safety until Castle could get home.

In the ambulance outside the now shattered Coulter home, Tom sits next to his wife on the gurney as she talks to Castle on the phone. Occasionally she places the small oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, taking deep breaths.

She hears the sniffling on the other end – and immediately knows how hard Castle is struggling to keep it together. For his part, he can hear the emotion even in her silence.

"I will find them, Castle," she promises, more to herself than to the man on the other end.

"_We_ will find them, Jordan," he corrects her. "All of us. We beat him once, we can do it again," he finishes with a confidence and bravado that he desperately wishes that he actually felt.

"You know the first problem we have, don't you?" she asks him, and glances at her husband, pulling support from him.

"Yeah – our daughters are gone, that's kind of obvious," he says, irritated.

"No, Castle. You're thinking like a dad. I have to think like a cop," she corrects him. "The first problem is one of location."

"What do you mean?" he asks. Kate, standing next to him, and listening to the conversation on speakerphone picks up immediately on the Fed's train of thought.

"She's right, Castle. I should have thought of that," she continues with disappointment.

"What are talking –"

"Location, Castle," Jordan repeats. Your daughter was taken from New York. My daughter was taken from Chicago. Looking at the timeline, the . . . kidnappings . . ."

Just saying the word brings another choke hold on Jordan, and she fights to keep the emotion down. Raw and exposed, her nerves are fraying and she is minutes from losing it completely. Tom's hand on hers is a small comfort. But a comfort nonetheless.

"The kidnappings occurred roughly the same time – within an hour of the other I'd surmise."

"And? And?" Castle asks – still not putting it together.

"It's roughly a twelve hour drive from Chicago to New York," Kate interrupts.

"Six hours if they met somewhere in between," Jordan continues.

"Roughly a two-hour flight," Kate adds, mentally ticking off the hours in her head.

"The question, Castle, is this: Where are the girls? The picture showed them together. Are they in New York? Are they in Chicago? Are they somewhere in between?"

"Are they somewhere else," Kate adds.

"Right now, the most important thing for us to figure out is location," Jordan finishes. "If it was just Jenna, we could assume she is in Chicago. If it was just Alexis, we could assume her to be in New York-"

"But since it is both of them, and they are together, we don't know where they are," Castle finishes, nodding with understanding.

"And that is IF they are together, Castle," Kate adds. Some eight hundred miles away, Jordan nods in agreement.

"We need to have the guys examine the picture – to make sure it isn't doctored in any way," Jordan states.

"How in the hell did he get out of jail?" Castle asks, the anger that has been simmering now boiling over. It's something they all have been wondering for the past hour or so.

"And why wasn't I alerted?" Jordan asks. "I should have received some type of notification if he had broken out."

"Are we absolutely sure it was him?" Castle asks, looking at Kate next to him. She is the one who spoke with him on the phone.

"Sounded like him," she says quietly. "Not a voice I would forget."

"Nor I," Jordan adds. "It was just two words – 'Hello Jordan' – but I would know that voice."

"One thing though," Kate adds, now with a confused expression on her face. "He sounded different in one way. His voice – no – his cadence. It was clipped. He had these strange . . . pauses that sounded strange."

"The voice sounded right, though?" Castle asks.

"To me, it did," Jordan says.

"Except for the pauses, yes for me also," Kate agrees.

"He's a nut case, Kate. But he's a smart one. He changed identities like you and I change clothes. Let's not put it past him to try to confuse us with a pre-meditated speech pattern. That would fit his MO."

Kate nods, and moves away from Castle to the large, expansive floor to ceiling window overlooking the street below. She stares out the window, her thoughts taking her miles away, and the crease on her forehead deepening with each passing minute.

Castle notices, and calls over to her.

"Beckett. Beckett, what's wrong?"

"Magic," she says.

"What?"

"So far, the common denominator here is two daughters, and magic."

Jordan has heard Kate's words – lowered in volume now because of Kate's distance from the phone, but clearly understood.

"Three mimes here, talking about a magic act," she states.

"A street magician here, dressed like a mime, with a magic card act here," Kate adds. "And he said it's personal. A personal magic show."

"Well, he's made it fucking personal all right," Jordan states, venom creeping into her voice as she considers the family – her friends – burned alive in their own home all in the name of a so-called magic trick.

"First things first, Jordan," Kate says. "Call the prison – I meant to do that, but got . . ."

"I know. Interrupted," Jordan finishes for her. "Already done, I'm just waiting to hear back from Jason, and I will get the images to the lab here."

Castle remembers Agent Jason Avery. He's glad for as much help as they can get.

"I've already sent the image from here to our lab, earlier," Kate says.

Martha comes around the corner from the downstairs bathroom. Her eyes are puffy and red, and she looks years older than Kate has ever seen her. She imagines they all look like hell right now.

"Any word?" Martha asks, her normally strong and melodic voice now small and meek.

"None yet, Mother," Castle responds. "But Dunn is not the type to let a lot of grass grow under his feet. We will hear something soon."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Jordan sighs, and miles away, all nod in agreement.

Her phone buzzes, indicating an incoming call. The Caller ID tells her it is from Agent Avery – likely with news on the Dunn's escape from prison.

"Hold on, Castle, it's Jason – let me take this. Don't go away," Jordan says.

"Not going anywhere," he offers.

Castle and Beckett glance at each other. She notices the anguish in his eyes. He notices the weariness in hers. And something else.

Guilt?

He idly wonders why – as she has nothing to be guilty about. It's certainly not her fault that any of this is happening right now. His reverie is broken by Jordan clicking back over to his line.

"Shit," she begins. "We have a problem."

"Now what?" Castle sighs in exasperation.

"Dunn's locked up, nice and tidy in his cell," she states.

"What?"

"James confirmed it twice with the warden," Jordan continues. "Sent someone to his cell."

All are quiet for a few seconds, pondering this latest bit of information. If not Dunn, then who? Who would imitate Dunn – and more importantly – why?

"Jordan, I will call you back," Castle states, hanging up.

He walks to the bar, and reaches up for the bottle of scotch. He roughly grabs a glass, pours a drink and then takes a long swallow – hissing as the liquid rolls down the back of his throat. He walks to Kate, holding the glass out to her, and she downs a long swallow as well.

"This makes no sense," he states to no one in particular. Kate nods – not looking at him, barely paying attention – lost in her thoughts.

"I know what I heard," she says half to herself. "This is Dunn. I know it is."

Her phone chirps – signaling an incoming text. She opens the text, as Castle eyes her. She gives nothing away with her facial expressions, unnerving him even more.

"Bastard," she finally exclaims, her voice still void of emotion. She hands the phone to Castle, who takes it and reads the incoming text.

"_Nikki – a magic trick. How can a man be in two places at the same time?"_


	6. Chapter 6

**Magic: Chapter 6**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**February 23, 2012, 6:30am**_

"So, what are you telling me?" a highly agitated Richard Castle asks aloud, to the team in general in the room with him. "Scott Dunn is making these phone calls from prison? He's somehow orchestrating kidnappings, murder and pictures and texts and phone calls all from the cozy confines of his maximum security federal cell? That's what you're telling me?"

Agent James Avery shuffles his feet, now slightly uncomfortable at the news he has just delivered. Agent Jordan Shaw shakes her head. The evidence is overwhelming, but not settling well with her. Scott Dunn is indeed in prison. But Scott Dunn has been making phone calls both to her and to Kate Beckett. Somehow, he's behind all of this. But that can't be possible, because –again - he is sitting in a prison cell.

She's gotten less than an hour of sleep through the night. Tom dozed a little easier. Once they made the decision to fly to New York, Castle had made a phone call and arranged a last minute private charter to pick Tom and Jordan up at a Midway. A couple of hours later, they were landing in New York. They'd all agreed that the most likely scenario had both Jenna and Alexis in New York City somewhere. That seems the most logical play-out.

Scott Dunn has a major hard-on for Kate Beckett. That makes sense. She beat him, and she put him away, ending his decade-long serial spree. Kate is in New York. The most likely of all scenarios – run by the Feds – place Scott Dunn in New York.

But Dunn is in prison.

Now, they find themselves in one of the interview 'boxes', just across from Captain Victoria Gates' office, now transformed into a miniature war-room. Before noon, the technology toys that Shaw depends on and Castle loves will be showing up, once again adorning the NYPD 12th Precinct. He is holding out hope that Jordan's gadgets will once again prove helpful in solving the enigma that is Scott Dunn.

"Let's run through all of this again," Captain Gates states, with her usual authoritative tone, clearly taking control – for now – of the discussion.

Castle and Kate begin by walking the team through the events of the previous night outside the Old Haunt. They share the photograph sent by Scott Dunn, as well as the playing cards they confiscated, all with pictures of Alexis.

Jordan Shaw relates the proceedings from the previous evening from her vantage point, including the information relayed by the now deceased Coulter family. Kate documents the thoughts, pictures and musings on the makeshift 'evidence' board they have set up. Everyone takes specific attention not to refer to it by its normal description.

The murder board.

"One more time, Jordan – tell us what he said in his call to you last night," Kate requests, replacing the cap on her marker and placing it down on the table.

"Nothing much to tell," Jordan offers. "He said he has a – and I quote – 'elaborate magic show, lovingly created for a specific audience.'

"That's us," Castle adds.

"That's damn creepy," Esposito frowns.

"That it is, detective," Gates says, shaking her head with disgust.

"And we are certain – absolutely certain – that Dunn is in jail," Ryan asks aloud. The entire team turns and stares at the detective, drawing his ire.

"Look, don't look at me like that! C'mon, all of you are thinking the same thing.

"Agent Avery, you are positive that Dunn is in custody? They have confirmed this without question?" asks Gates.

"As positive as we can be, I would guess," the Federal agent replies. "I know how important this is, and I know we have to be sure. So I asked them to run through their verification process and everything matches. It's Dunn in that cell. The dental records matched, the fingerprints matched, facial recognition captured from –"

"What did you say?" Castle – now highly alarmed, interrupts, rather loudly, startling the group.

"Jason! What did you say?" Castle repeats, louder.

"I said they ran through their verification process, and everything matched up. Dental records –"

"Fingerprints!"

Kate, Jordan and Castle – all three of them have shouted out the single word simultaneously.

"You've got to be kidding me," Kevin Ryan exclaims, sharing a look with Esposito – both marveling at the now three-way mental mind-meld that they have seen previously, exclusively with Castle and Beckett.

"What about fingerprints?" Esposito asks.

"Dunn doesn't have any," Beckett explains.

"We surmised that he – either intentionally or unintentionally – burned them off," Jordan Shaw adds. "When we found his hideout a couple of years ago on our previous case, there were no fingerprints anywhere."

"A virtual impossibility, unless a person_ has_ no fingerprints," adds Castle.

"So if our prisoner in custody has fingerprints that were verified," Jason states, and is interrupted by a now excited Castle.

"- Then our prisoner is not Scott Dunn."

"So, who in the hell is sitting in Scott Dunn's cell?" asks Esposito.

"And where is the real Scott Dunn?" Beckett wonders aloud.

The realization slaps each of them within the next few seconds. The very temporary euphoria at the new revelation quickly gives way to wary nervousness. Somehow Scott Dunn has escaped.

It really _is_ him behind all of this.

And he's free.

A quick shiver runs through Jordan Shaw – visible to all, and just the knowledge that a Fed of her experience is shaken rocks each of them in their own way. She recognizes this, and immediately composes herself, taking a deep, calming breath.

"All good questions, questions we need answers to," Jordan states. She looks at Agent Avery – her friend – who has been through the wars with her. Before she speaks, he knows what she needs.

"On it," he simply says, and walks over to the door and exits the room, placing yet another call to the Federal Prison that is housing someone by the name of Scott Dunn.

"Castle," she continues, now looking at the increasingly nervous author. "Jenna and Alexis are alive right now. Our job is to keep it that way."

"How can you be sure?" he asks her.

"Because Dunn sent you her hair, not body parts. Not bloody bullets. Not a body laid out on your doorstep," she continues, knowing the direct approach is harsh, but also probably the best for him. He needs hope, but he needs realistic hope, not a pipedream easily shattered. She knows the minute he loses hope, this is over for him.

"We know his MO, Castle," Beckett continues. "Jordan is right. If Alexis and Jenna were . . . if they were dead, we would know it already. Dunn would take pleasure in making that known to us. They're alive."

"But why?" Jordan asks.

"What do you mean 'why'? her husband asks, irked at the notion that his wife would question this.

"I need to think like a cop – like a federal agent – if we are going to get them back, Tom," she tells him. "I catch killers and I stop them from killing. That is what I need to do right now, and I can't do that as a worrying mother."

"So what are you saying?" Tom asks her.

"She's saying we will hear from Dunn soon enough," Castle states, almost dejectedly. It's a helpless feeling knowing that there is so little they can do right now until Dunn reaches out to them again. And the problem with that is that – if past history is any indicator, and usually it is – when Dunn reaches out, that means he has done something else.

It usually means someone else is dead.

"What's his angle, though," Castle wonders aloud. "Why take Alexis? Why take Jenna? What's his game?"

"This is no game!" Tom exclaims, clearly becoming more agitated by the minute.

"It is to Dunn," Castle and Jordan state simultaneously. He glances at her, and she gives him a strange half smile.

"He made multiple killings a game with a fictional character based upon Kate," Castle finishes. "To him, this is just a game that – for all we know – he plans on writing about."

"That would track with him," Kate agrees.

A few more minutes pass, with the team exchanging thoughts, updating the evidence board with new information as they recall it. Eventually, a few minutes later, Jason Avery steps back into the room.

"What is it, Jason?" Kate asks, being the first to notice him return.

He motions everyone back to the table, and then pulls the desk telephone on the table over to himself, and punches extension 202, picking up the call he had parked there. All are seated around the table as Agent Avery begins speaking.

"Warden Young, please re-state what you told me for the audience I have hear with me, which includes Federal Agent Jordan Shaw as well as a number of detectives from the New York Police Department."

"Ladies, gentlemen," Warden Young begins. "I can only apologize for the information I am about to share with you. In a nutshell, Scott Dunn is not here. We aren't sure who is sitting in his cell, but it is definitely not Mr. Dunn," he continues.

He hears the groans from the New York conference room in his receiver, which only makes the rest of the conversation all the more difficult for the warden.

"It gets worse, I'm afraid," he tells them. "Based upon what we are now learning, I am not certain that Mr. Dunn has ever _been_ in our custody. We cannot ascertain at this time whether or not Mr. Dunn conducted a switch with someone while he was here, or before he got here over two years ago."

"You cannot be serious," Kate Beckett exclaims, the frustration clearly expressed on her tired face. She, too, has spent a sleepless night, and she is well aware that this may be part of Dunn's plan. Keep them running, keep them awake, get them careless . . .

"I wish I could tell you otherwise," the warden continues. "But if what you say is true, and Mr. Dunn has no fingerprints, then I can tell you with some certainty that Mr. Dunn has never seen the inside of our facility here, because fingerprinting would be one of the first procedures conducted as part of the admissions process."

All of the agents and detectives in the room nod in agreement with the warden's assumption.

"If there were no fingerprints on an incoming inmate, then that would have been immediately documented in the files, and no such documentation exists for Mr. Dunn," he concludes.

"So, as far as we know, Scott Dunn has been free for the past two years," Kate Beckett states aloud.

"And if Dunn has been free, then it's safe to assume he has been working on this for some time," Jordan Shaw adds.

"And likely adding bodies to his kill count," Avery states, and his matter-of-fact delivery draws looks from all in the room.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he states. "But look - your daughter is gone, Mr. Castle," he says, looking at Castle, and then turning his attention to Jordan Shaw. "Jenna is gone, Jordan. I can either sugar-coat things or act like a federal agent and-"

"No worries, Jason," Jordan says, as she walks over toward the tall black man, giving him a hug. "I know you, Jason, I trust you. You are absolutely right. We have to start thinking like Dunn, if we have any chance here."

"Warden Young, thank you for your time and information," Captain Gates states in concluding the call. "We will be back in touch with you, I'm sure," and she disconnects the call.

"So – what now?" she asks.

"I hate to say this . . ." Jordan answers.

"I know," Kate agrees. "We wait."

"Wait for what?" Tom Shaw asks, searching for an answer between Jordan and Kate, not believing that either of these women expect him to just sit and wait for this madman to call or text or write, or whatever the hell he does.

"We wait for the next chapter to play out," Castle states.

"A suggestion," Jordan says suddenly, standing up from the table, a small look of alarm threatening to break free.

"What is it, Agent Shaw?" Gates asks.

"Two possibilities are most likely, given his past methods," Jordan states. "One - kidnapping my daughter and Castle's daughter is the end-game."

She stares at Castle, seeing the pain her words cause him, and knowing full well how that pain feels – personally. She glances at Tom, and then to Kate, fixing her eyes on the detective.

"Or two – kidnapping our daughters is – as Castle here so eloquently described, simply the first chapter. If that is the case, then we can expect others to disappear," and she can see the effect her words have in the room. Each of them has a loved one that could be targeted by Dunn.

Martha Rogers. Jim Beckett. Jenny O'Malley. Lanie Parrish.

"He said it's a magic show – a _personal_ magic show, you said, Kate," Jordan continues, nodding towards the detective.

"Yes, that's what he said," she agrees, now nervously considering what this could mean for her.

"A magic show needs three things," Castle says, the dread now threatening to consume him, as his face reddens and his hands begin shaking.

"A magician," Esposito says.

"An audience," Ryan adds.

There is a short pause, before Jordan completes the sentence none of them want to face.

"And participants," she states.

"If Dunn has his way, some of us will be part of the audience . . ." Castle says softly.

"While others of us – or our loved ones – will be participants," Jordan finishes, looking directly at Castle, both of them now realizing the horror that could be facing them and their daughters.

On cue, Beckett's phone rings, and all heads jerk in her direction as she stares at the blocked caller ID, and nods her head to the room.

"This could be him," she states, and then answers the phone.

"Beckett."

"Time for Act 2, Nikki. A new magic . . . trick . . . for your pleasure," Dunn tells her.

"A new game, Dunn?" she queries him with false bravado, but also a new seething determination.

"_Enough of this cat and mouse crap,"_ she thinks to herself.

"Ah, Nikki . . . _that's_ the spirit . . . _there's_ my girl . . . the old, closed theatre on Broadway . . . be there . . . twenty-five minutes."

"What's the game, Dunn? No hints ? No rules?" Beckett asks, attempting to bait him.

"For now . . . a simple game, Nikki . . . you arrive on time . . . and the act is a success . . . you arrive one minute late, and . . . well, not all magic tricks have a . . . happy ending, now do they?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Magic: Chapter 7**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**February 23, 2012, 7:20am**_

Kate Beckett flies out of her unmarked car, sprinting to the front door of the now abandoned theatre in the Broadway district. For years, this theatre was home to some of the most popular plays adorning the Great White Way. Today, it's in the midst of a hiatus between events, waiting for the next big story to arrive with music and pageantry.

Today is not such a day.

Richard Castle is barely a step behind her as the large black SUV pulls up alongside Kate's car, emptying Agents Shaw and Avery. Detective's Esposito and Ryan are already out as well, just a step behind Castle.

"It's not locked," Beckett states, opening the unlocked door.

"Good. It just means we are expected," Esposito mumbles under his breath.

All six are through the door within seconds, their eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness, when a light turns on, a familiar voice appears.

"Ah . . . good . . . you made it on time. I would . . . hate for things to have to . . . get unpleasant so soon into . . . our show, Nikki."

They all turn to the sound of the voice, and find themselves staring at a large monitor – probably 50 inches or so – hanging on the wall roughly 15 feet away. On the monitor is Scott Dunn, with his trademark sinister smirk firmly in place.

"It's a video screen," Beckett says, with disappointment.

"Oh . . . don't be disappointed, Nikki . . . you will see me . . . in person, soon enough," Dunn laughs. He's laughing at them. Always one step ahead of them.

Just like last time.

"The name is Beckett, Dunn – and you know it," Kate says between gritted teeth. No, she probably shouldn't be baiting a serial killer, but she's approaching the end of her patience.

Scratch that – she went beyond her patience point hours ago. Now she's just pissed off.

"Kate, don't play his game," Jordan warns her softly, trying to keep from unsettling the psychopath on the other end.

"I'd listen to . . . the FBI agent . . . _Nikki_," Dunn says, placing unnecessary emphasis on the fictional name created by Castle for his favorite detective.

"We are here, Dunn," Jordan continues. "We made it in time. Now, where is my daughter, and where is Castle's daughter?"

"Oh, patience, Jordan . . . patience. I must say . . . you do look . . . ravishing this morning . . . Agent Shaw," Dunn tells her.

For lack of a better term, he is creeping her out, and she can tell this is intentional on his part. He's trying to keep her off balance – as if kidnapping her daughter wasn't enough. Suddenly, another set of lights turn on, and it is clear now that they are in the entry foyer area of the old theatre. Another set of lights turn on, off to the left, leading them into the theatre proper.

"Follow the yellow brick road . . . or at least the yellow . . . lights I have turned on for you," Dunn tells them, again laughing. "But don't take too long . . . the show is about to start."

Beckett takes the lead, following the lights that continue to turn on, with Castle, Esposito, Ryan and Avery in tow. Jordan Shaw hangs behind for a moment, taking in the surroundings as she walks slowly behind her friends into the theatre proper. The lights continue to come on, and they find themselves walking down one of the aisles, passing rows of seats, toward the darkened stage.

Suddenly, the stage lights up, and Richard Castle falters for a moment at the macabre scene spread out on display on the grand stage in front of them.

Standing some twenty feet tall, a large guillotine – straight from the French Revolution – takes center stage. An empty – thankfully - basket sits below the ancient apparatus. Also, thankfully, no human is in close proximity of the killing machine.

No Alexis.

No Jenna.

For the first time since they arrived at the theatre, Richard Castle is truly thankful that he doesn't see his daughter here at this scene.

The entire theatre is fully lit now, with a spotlight on the guillotine on the stage. The rest of the stage remains dark. And is that . . . yes, it is. It's circus music that is playing softly, at a disarmingly low volume, giving the visual in front of them an even more frightening vibe.

"Don't worry . . . my friends," Dunn voice tells them. Now his voice is coming from somewhere on the stage. "I have no . . . use for that large monstrosity over there. I am not a monster . . ."

They hear laughter, and then Dunn continues, under his breath.

"Or maybe I am . . . a monster at that."

Suddenly, one more light turns on – off to the right side of the stage. There, on a makeshift wall created on the stage, hangs another video monitor, with Scott Dunn's smiling visage all but teasing the shaken detectives, agents and writer. Below the monitor is a large chair. No, not a chair.

A school desk.

A large, over-sized school desk, at that. The desk is built into the left arm of the large chair, mimicking the furniture that each of the adults in the theatre undoubtedly grew up with. And on the small desk attached to the chair is . . . _Damn!_

Another guillotine.

This one is small – almost three feet tall, certainly no more than that – but it's a miniature guillotine nonetheless.

Most unnerving, however, is the entirely scared-out-of-his-mind figure that sits, strapped and buckled with metal shackles to the school desk, bound by his hands and feet. Specifically, everyone's attention is immediately drawn to the left hand of the man seated at the desk. It's wrapped in a bandage. A quite bloody bandage.

The forefinger, middle finger and a thumb are sticking out of the bandage. The other two digits are gone. That's when Esposito notices the blood on the blade of the small guillotine. Evidently, the machine has already been busy.

To the side of the school desk is a black board, on rollers. Okay, technically it's actually a green board, the kind every school kid for generations grew up with. And across the top of the board are the words, printed neatly:

"_TODAY'S LESSON:"_

"Okay, children . . . I'd like you to meet . . . Mr . . . no, I am sorry, that is not correct . . . _Doctor_ Carter Burke," Dunn states from the screen.

"I apologize, doctor. I know that . . . you spent many years in . . . disciplined schooling to achieve . . . that title," Dunn continues. "But I digress."

The groan that escapes from Kate Beckett's mouth causes the other five in the theatre with her to pause, staring at her. The man in the desk is a complete stranger to each of them, except, of course, Kate Beckett.

"Dr. Burke," she says softly, shaking her head, holding on to one of the aisle seats to catch herself.

"Ah, Nikki . . . I see you recognize your . . . therapist . . . your shrink . . ."

This revelation does not get much of a reaction from Jordan Shaw or James Avery. Both have seen enough carnage to drive anyone crazy, so the notion that a police detective would be in therapy doesn't seem to surprise them.

Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan, however, are another case.

As is Richard Castle.

For them, the news blows them over like a soft breeze kissing a strand of wheat.

Dunn, who can clearly see the reactions, laughs all the louder.

"Oh, this is just the . . . beginning, my friends . . . there is so much for you to . . . learn here today," he tells them.

"Dr. Burke," Kate says again, softly, her eyes glistening. They are close enough to see the tear stains dried on his dark and normally peaceful face. Today? That face is anything but peaceful. It has seen terror – and felt terror – first hand this day.

"So . . . here is the game . . . here is the magic trick for today," Dunn continues. "It is a lesson we all . . . well, _some_ of us . . . learned . . . at an early age. It is called . . . honesty."

Kate takes three quick steps and is now at the make-shift stairs in front of the stage. Five steps and a quick sprint and she can have Dr. Burke loose.

"Ah ah ah, detective," Dunn tells her, and with that, the guillotine blade drops suddenly, only to stop after about a foot. Kate stops in her tracks, and the blade slowly rises back into position.

"Now, now . . . I need you to be a . . . _good_ audience this morning," Dunn cautions with menace in his voice. "Follow the rules."

"What are the rules, Dunn?" Jordan asks, with more strength in her voice than she – or any of them for that matter – feel at the moment.

"Simple," he says. "An honest answer from . . . Nikki over there . . . saves fingers and frees the good doctor. A lie . . . well, thankfully he has two hands."

Dunn's laughter, swelling over the circus music, unnerves Castle completely. He falls backward into the aisle seat he stands next to, unable to shake the image in front of him, and unable to clear his mind of what atrocities this madman may have planned for Alexis.

Or may have already taken out on his daughter.

"I must warn you . . . however . . ." Dunn continues. "Honesty from our detective here . . . may be a bit of a . . . magic trick all in itself. Now, if I may ask . . . please take a seat, all of you."

Reluctantly, the remaining detectives and agents join Castle in the front row. Kate is the last to sit, as she has to come back from the stage steps to join her comrades.

"Thank you," Dunn states almost graciously. The man is totally unnerving, indeed.

"I have been watching you, Nikki . . ." he begins, and then with a laugh, his voice, his inflections change.

"Oh forget the pre-tense," he says, speaking with his normal cadence. "I've been watching you for some time now, Detective Beckett. You've been on my mind, to say the least. For a long time. So imagine my surprise when I followed you to the good doctor's office," he says, allowing the words to sink in for each of them.

This is something that he has planned. For a long time.

"Clearly, my curiosity got the better of me," he continues. "Believe me, Detective Beckett, I tried to forget this. I did, I really did. But eventually, my need to know won out," he chuckles.

"So I paid Dr. Burke a visit," he says. "Of course, our doctor here didn't seem very pleased to see me, once I made my intentions known. I asked - please understand, Kate – may I call you 'Kate'? – please understand . . ." he continues, staring at them from the video screen on stage.

"Please understand, I only wanted to really know one thing from Dr. Burke. I wanted to know what deep and dark secret you harbored, Detective. I wanted to know what you were hiding, what was trying so hard to get out of you, that you didn't want out, that would send you back and back and back again to the good doctor, here."

Dunn pauses here, and the front row patrons watch in horror as the serial killer brings a hand up so that it is visible on the screen, and clips two fingernails from his two smallest fingers. Then, pausing again and starting straight into the camera – straight into his audience – he adds menacingly:

"Such a simple thing that our doctor here will no longer be doing."

He chuckles, and then continues again.

"I must say, I believe I showed great patience with Dr. Burke here. I asked nicely, and then I asked not so nicely. I think it is worth you knowing, Kate, that it wasn't until the second finger fell onto the desk in front of him that he . . . shall we say, opened up, so to speak."

"God, no . . . you bastard, no!" Kate says, her head in her hands now, drawing curious glances from the others in the row with her.

"Turns out, Mr. Castle," Dunn states, "that our Detective here has been holding out on you. She remembers everything that happened that day she was shot. She remembers her nice little eulogy. She remembers getting hit in the chest. She remembers you flying out of nowhere to try and save her."

From the corner of her eye, Kate Beckett and see – no, _she can feel_ – Richard Castle's eyes boring into the side of her face. It is her worst nightmare now come to flesh . . . come to feast.

"Kate," Dunn states triumphantly, as he sees the desired reaction from the writer's face. "Kate, we are playing for the remaining fingers on Dr. Burke's left hand. You final answer, please," he laughs. "Do you remember the words that Mr. Castle spoke to you, as you lay watering the grass that day?"

Tears that have been held in check now fall down Kate's cheeks. Still feeling the eyes from Castle – feeling the hurt and the anger building in those eyes, she glances at Dr. Burke. The fear in the doctor's eyes brings more tears, to both her and the good doctor.

"Yes," she says softly.

"I'm sorry, Kate – I am far, far away as you can tell. I didn't hear that."

She pauses for a second, and then turns her head, looking directly at Castle.

"Yes," she answers.

"And what were those words he spoke to you, Kate?"

Another tear makes its way down her face, dripping on to her shirt. She refuses to look away from the darkness that has now hijacked the normally beautiful blue eyes of her partner. She can't look away. She owes him this much, at least.

"He said 'I love you, Kate. I love you."

The single tear that falls from Castle's eye does her in. She drops her face into her hands, trying desperately to stifle a sob that fights for freedom.

For a few seconds, there is silence. Dunn has stopped talking. The circus music has died down. There is only the breathing of seven very ruffled adults in the building.

Finally, Dunn breaks the silence.

"Thank you, Kate. You really, truly are magic. I was convinced another couple of digits would have to find freedom before honesty won out with you," he says, almost derisively.

Suddenly, the metal shackles holding Dr. Carter Burke prisoner fly open. The doctor is taken aback at first, still too stunned to move.

"If you sit much longer, doctor, I'm going to assume you want to see another magic trick," Dunn says, and with that, Dr. Burke launches himself out of the desk, falling to the stage floor.

"One has found freedom," Dunn says. "Will the others be so lucky?"

With those words, a small incendiary device explodes – a small explosion in the video screen – that knocks it off the makeshift wall and into flaming pieces. The scene repeats itself throughout the theatre with each of the monitors that Dunn had put into place and used to interact with his 'audience.'

Suddenly Jordan Shaw's phone is ringing. She sees the unlisted number, but instinctively knows it's him.

"What is it, Dunn?" she asks.

"Oooh, good Jordan. I like this," Dunn states, his terrifying smile almost reaching through the airwaves into her ear.

"I called, Jordan, just to tell you that the tiny explosions you just witnessed are merely . . . foreplay for the building in which you stand. Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven . . ."

"Everybody out!" Jordan screams, hanging up the call. She sprints to the stage stairs, and takes them two at a time and is at Dr. Burke in seconds. She helps him lift himself off the ground, and finds Agent James Avery's strong arms taking Burke's other side.

"Let's go, doctor, now!" he states emphatically, pulling the doctor along. That's when Jordan sees it. Given everything they have seen – their daughters captured, a doctor tortured – her friends blown to bits in their own home – this scene unnerves her as much as any other.

Inside her mind, she still has the mental countdown going. But on the front row, Kate Beckett still sits. Next to her sits Richard Castle. Neither has moved. Esposito and Ryan are screaming at the two, imploring them to move. Neither moves a muscle. Neither takes their eye off the other.

"Dammit, detectives, move their asses out of here!" Jordan shouts, as she and Avery drag Dr. Burke down the steps.

Esposito forcibly grabs Castle and pulls him to his feet, while Ryan duplicates the move with Kate Beckett. Dragging them out for a few steps, both Castle and Beckett find their feet – and their minds – and begin sprinting out of the building with Detectives Esposito and Ryan, followed by Agents Shaw and Avery and a frazzled Dr. Burke. All reach the front doors, and clear the front doors when they hear the first explosion, deep in the bowels of the building. They continue running, past their cars, across the street, clearing pedestrians as best they can.

The final explosion rocks the street, and Jordan Shaw turns back, watching in unintended awe as the building implodes on itself.

"_The bastard imploded it, not exploded,"_ she marvels to herself.

Further down the street, Kate Beckett calls after Richard Castle, who continues walking away, down the street.

"Castle! Rick, please . . ."

The ringing sound of her cell phone startles her, and she knows without looking who this will be. A quick glance at the unlisted number confirms it.

"You bastard," she states by greeting.

"I won't argue with you, Kate. I am a bastard," he agrees. "But know that there are still people to save, lives to free. This magic act is far from over."

"Why?" she asks, barely containing the emotion, the anger, the hurt. "You could have just killed me and been done with it. Why did you-"

"Oh, Kate. I don't want to _kill_ you. Death is too easy. It's too final," he chuckles, then adds with no humor. "I don't want to kill you. Oh trust me, I _am_ going to kill _someone_. I can't help it, I just have to. Someone close to you. Or to Mr. Castle. Or to Jordan," he continues.

"You bastard-"

"Don't worry, Kate, your dad is off limits. I mean, hell, you've already lived through the death of one parent, so where's the fun, where's the adventure, the originality in that!? No, your dad is safe, Kate," he states, now more softly.

"But I am going to drive a truck-sized wedge between you and your friends, Detective, believe me. I'm going to take those you love away from you. And I'm going to do it by showing them exactly who you really are," he says. "Yesterday was Act One. Today was Act Two."

He hangs up, leaving her listening to the silence, and watching the increasingly smaller figure of Richard Castle walk away . . . away . . . away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Magic: Chapter 8**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**February 23, 2012, 7:45am**_

Richard Castle is numb; absolutely numb.

He has built up enough momentum to keep moving – putting one step in front of the other. Again, then again. Putting as much distance between himself and the carnage – and the betrayal – now blocks behind him.

He unknowingly walks into the crosswalk without looking for cross traffic for the second block in a row. His mind is cold, with cloudy images flowing in and out, in slow motion.

Images of Alexis.

He sees her jumping up from behind the couch, firing her laser gun into his chest, her red hair bouncing as broadly as the smile on her freckled young face. He hears her yellowing "Score!" as she dashes into the dining room and out of sight.

He sees her little hand tucked tightly into his, her face wide with surprise and excitement as she watches the long tongue of the giraffe slip outward – inches at a time – grabbing for a branch high above its head. Her first trip to the zoo with her dad.

He sees her bounding happily up the steps ahead of him, into the school doors, on her first day of school. He tries – unsuccessfully – to keep up with her, as her inquisitive mind takes in the walls and smells of school for the first time.

Continuously, the images, the memories slowly make their way in and out of his conscious mind – one step, then another.

"_Keep walking,"_ his mind tells him subconsciously. _"Don't stop. You can't stop."_

He sees Alexis bundled up in bed, her blanket wrapped around her, her tiny hands holding on to the bowl of chicken noodle soup that he has made for her. Martha is sitting on the bed with her, surrounded by discarded tissues – the evidence of the cold Alexis is trying to shake.

He sees her laying in the grass in the park, as he sits next to her – watching the clouds overhead, listening with joy to her innocent imagination at work, as she points out the leprechaun in the sky, then the small bunny to the left. Her sweet face is surrounded by the red stands splayed out around her face on the ground, her teeth bright with her smile.

Suddenly, her face fades, as he continues to walk – step after step – and her hair darkens. The freckles disappear and her face becomes more angular. The eyes darken. It's no longer his little girl lying in the grass with a joyous smile. It's Kate Beckett, with surprise and fear showing in her eyes, and he hears his own voice over her.

"_I love you, Kate. I love you."_

Maybe it wasn't the best of timing. Okay – no maybe about it. The timing sucked. But the words were – nonetheless – spoken from the heart. Spoken with truth and clarity.

So why lie about it?

Why deny hearing it?

Why build such an elaborate world of mistruth – and for so long?

Maybe she didn't know what to say, recovering in the hospital room, her boyfriend just seconds out of the room. He can give her the benefit of the doubt.

Bullshit. She's had almost seven months to figure out what to say. She's had over half a freaking year to decide what – if anything – it meant to her. If she doesn't love him? Well, okay. He's a big boy – he would move on. It's not like rejection from a woman is something new, something he can't overcome. Two marriages – two failed marriages – are a testament to that.

But to ignore it? To pretend it never happened?

For seven months?

And this is the woman he has risked his life for? This is the woman he as chased, shadowed, and all but worshipped? This is the woman he has placed in front of his family? In front of his own daughter?

And now, because of his devotion to this woman, his daughter was targeted by a madman. Because of his devotion to this woman, he daughter was taken from him. Because of this woman, strands of his daughter's hair lie dead in a box, at the 12th precinct sitting on the desk of this woman.

He may lose his baby girl over _this_ woman, who can listen to an impassioned plea of love and discard it for months?

A horn honks, and the yellow and green cab comes to a sudden stop – complete with cursing from the driver, as he finds himself in the middle of the street. Once again, he has missed the pedestrian light. Startled, he mumbles an apology.

"Sorry," he says, certainly not audible to the angry cab driver now giving him the business – and his finger, as Richard Castle steps back up onto the curb.

He can worry about her later. He will think about _her _later. For now, he needs to focus on his daughter. For now, he needs to find his daughter before anything more happens to her. He agrees with Jordan. She's still alive. He'd know otherwise. As she said, Dunn would make sure he knew.

He raises his hand with a whistle, hailing a cab over to the curb, and climbs into the back seat.

"12th Precinct, please," he says, as he begins to slide into the back seat when the cabbie's head explodes across the front seat, partially bumping into the protective glass separating the front seat from the back seat. A small bit of cabbie's blood sprays across the glass with no pattern – the majority of the blood now on the front passenger seat and window.

Still numb from the show back at the theatre, and from the subsequent explosion of the imploded building as they sprinted away – it takes a few seconds for the reality unfolding in the front seat to register completely with Castle. The blood on the protective glass separation shocks him back to the present.

"My God," he mutters under his breath, ducking behind the front seat – then deciding that anywhere in this taxi is the last place he needs to be. He scrambles backward, falling out of the taxi. Thankfully the cabbie had placed the vehicle in PARK when he pulled over. That one action saves further potential tragedy on the streets.

He finds himself on his knees, on the sidewalk curb, only two or three feet from the taxi cab. Wide eyed with fear, his head whips left and right, instinctively looking for the source of the deadly bullet – and also waiting to feel that split second of pain, waiting for the second bullet that undoubtedly is coming to extinguish his lights, his hopes. For that split second, he again sees the young red-headed face of his baby girl.

It is maybe a second or two later as his vision - and mind – clears, when he sees him.

He stands, hands in his pockets, roughly 15 feet ahead of Castle. He wears an overcoat, with a Yankees cap on his head. His eyes smirk, mockingly, as he gives Castle a toothless grin. Scott Dunn removes one hand and gives Richard Castle a two-fingered salute, and then walks casually down the steps to the subway platform below the streets.

Still on his knees, Castle suddenly heaves, vomiting the contents of his near empty stomach into the street.


	9. Chapter 9

**Magic: Chapter 9**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**February 23, 2012, 9:15am**_

"So this is all an elaborate plot to get back at you," Javier Esposito says to the quiet detective who sits across the table from him.

"The kidnappings - the killings - the magic tricks – all of this is all a part of a plan to break you," adds Kevin Ryan. The statement is more of a question than a declaration of fact.

Detective Kate Beckett says nothing. Instead, she stares at the monitor, watching the surveillance feed from earlier this morning. She hasn't said much since relating to everyone her brief phone conversation with Scott Dunn before he blew the building.

"And your dad is off limits," adds Captain Victoria Gates, who stands near the door in the now very crowded room of some twenty or so people, truly understanding the oft-used 'can-of-sardines' comparison.

Kate merely nods her head, continuing to study the surveillance.

"Lucky you," Agent Jordan Shaw says under her breath – but loud enough for half the room to hear. Including Kate Beckett, who almost breaks her eyes away from the video monitor. Instead, she closes her eyes, steeling herself to the task at hand, successfully fighting down the tears threatening to break free.

Immediately, the Federal Agent apologizes, knowing her comment is unfair, and certainly does not help the situation.

"I'm sorry, Kate," she offers genuinely. "I'm not myself right now. I just want my daughter. And I want to catch this bastard."

"Nothing to apologize for, Jordan," Kate tells her, still focused on the monitor. "He is trying to split us apart, get us questioning each other."

"Mission accomplished," Detective Ryan mutters.

That one stings. Kate and Javier and Kevin have been through wars together, for far longer than she's been with any of these other people. She considers them her brothers. She knows they consider her their sister. She knows they are protective of her to the death. So yeah, coming from Kevin, this one hurts.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she questions, finally looking away from the monitor, her unshed tears finally winning, and glistening her eyes – which only serves to piss her off even more.

"It means the man finally admitted the real reason he's stuck around, the real reason he's followed you around like a puppy dog for the last four years – and you pretended he never said anything?

Kevin Ryan is not surprised by the head slap that knocks his head forward. He turns to glare at an equally glowering Javier Esposito.

"Really? Really?" exclaims Jordan Shaw, her exasperation and stress clearly showing. "My daughter is missing. Castle's daughter is missing. My best friends on this planet are dead – including their ten year old daughter. A cab driver – with a family – is dead. A good man has been maimed. And we're going to talk about her . . . her love . . . her . . ."

Jordan cannot – thankfully – find the words to complete her thoughts, and is interrupted by Captain Gates, who looks to get the team re-focused.

"Back on task," she barks, her eyes fully indicating that she will not tolerate anything less than complete compliance. "This is exactly what this madman wants – us unfocused, us at each other's throats."

Richard Castle picks this moment to make his entrance into the war room. He's just spent the last ten or so minutes in the men's wash room. He's cleaned himself up as best he can. His face and hands are washed, and he still winces as the generic brand mouthwash from the men's room stings his mouth. He had glanced at Kate Beckett's desk on the way to the war room, and simply frowned.

"Later," he had thought to himself.

Steps later, he finds himself here, in the war room with the ever-increasing crowd – many of whom he does not recognize. Most of them are huddled together, watching the surveillance feed from a large screen monitor at the front of the table.

"Castle," Jordan states, genuinely glad to see the author. Right now, no one in this room understands her mindset, has any idea of what she is going through – except Richard Castle. It is revelation that is very evident to the Federal Agent.

Everyone turns to the doorway as he enters, including Kate Beckett, who is almost afraid to connect with him, eye to eye. He glances at her, and then glances away without a second thought. It's quick, and unnoticed by everyone in the room.

Except Kate, of course. Yeah, she notices. It is a visual brush-off, the likes of which she has never experienced with Richard Castle, and so it wounds deeply, as did Kevin Ryan's off-the-cuff remark.

"Castle, good, you are just in time," Jordan continues, as she slides over, bumping Agent Avery who sits next to her. He, in turn, bumps the next person, and a domino effect of musical chairs takes place.

"Sit here, and watch," Jordan tells him, as he sits next to her, and directly across the table from Kate.

"We picked up all of the city IP surveillance feeds, all the way from the theatre to where you . . . hailed the taxi," she finishes. "On the off-chance that he might have been close by all along."

"It was a good hunch," Esposito adds. "Three blocks down from the theatre, look who is walking alongside you."

Castle watches, silent and expressionless, as Scott Dunn appears and walks alongside him, maybe four feet to the side of him and perhaps a step, no more than two, behind him.

"Arrogant bastard," Agent Avery comments.

They follow the different feeds from the IP surveillance cameras, installed after 9/11 at various strategic points along the street, watching Scott Dunn shadow Richard Castle. A few times, the two men actually walk side by side, with Dunn no more than a yard or two to the left of the obviously unfocused author.

"How did you not see him, Castle?" asks Kevin Ryan, the words escaping his lips before he can catch himself. He is rewarded with a second, harder head slap from Esposito.

"Not cool, bro," Javier hisses at his best friend.

"Gentlemen – shut up," Captain Gates warns. "We are getting to 49th street next."

"Yes, now here we are at 7th Avenue and West 49th Street," Agent Avery offers, as he clicks the mouse, pausing the video feed. "See right there – he opens his coat just enough . . ."

"He has a silencer," Jordan states.

"Yeah, no sound to alert anyone," adds James Avery.

"Takes the shot like nothing has happened – like he does this every day," says Gates.

"Maybe he does," is all Kate Beckett says, and her statement quiets the room in its horrific simplicity.

"Now we pick him up again . . . Here! At the 49th Street Station, as Mr. Castle indicated," adds Captain Gates, breaking the silence.

"So now we check the cameras in the city to see where he comes out," states Jordan, sitting back in her seat.

"That's going to be a lot of cameras, Agent Shaw," states Kevin Ryan.

"That's what _they _are for," Jordan says, tossing a look at the group of men and women sitting at and standing around the table that are unrecognizable to Richard Castle. "The local FBI office here has assigned these additional agents to the task of finding Dunn on the video feeds," she finishes.

Okay, that explains the dozen or so suits in the room that Castle does not recognize. Obviously, Jordan is calling in the guns. Of course she is. She has as much invested in this as he does.

Castle simply nods his head, still staring at the video feed in front of him.

"Captain, do you mind?" Jordan asks, standing as she faces Victoria Gates.

"Not at all, Special Agent Shaw," Gates responds.

Jordan takes a few steps forward, and is now standing at the front of the room, alongside the monitor, addressing the room at large.

"Understand what we are dealing with here," she begins. "This is one sick, demented, but very intelligent man. He plans everything. He does nothing impulsively. He strategizes multiple steps ahead, then executes his plan. Ruthlessly. Efficiently."

She glances from face to face, touching all of the new agents in the room. They know what is at stake for her. The entire room knows. Everyone knows that failure brings the kind of horror that torments a parent, destroys a marriage, ruins lives. And they know this is what faces the Federal Agent . . .

. . . and the writer who sits in front of her.

"He does nothing by accident," Jordan continues, "so we can rule out him just slipping up and making this easy for us –"

"He _wanted_ us to see him," Kate Beckett interrupts.

All eyes revert to the detective – still seated - at the head of the table.

"He does nothing by accident, as Agent Shaw has stated. So the fact that he is all over these video feeds means he _wanted _us to see him," Beckett continues. "We know from the last time we faced him, he knows where cameras are located – it is no accident that we see him so plainly."

"Castle saw him because he _wanted_ him to see him," Jordan adds, looking directly at Castle, who is also still seated with everyone else.

"He is taunting us?" Captain Gates asks.

"He is just upping the stakes, Captain," Esposito explains. Captain Gates was not around when they first faced Scott Dunn. That first time, Captain Montgomery was still in charge – still alive – and Gates was still downtown in IA.

"He has an end-game, Captain," Ryan adds. "And if form holds, he doesn't let the status quo stay for long. He shows himself, he gives us a . . . hell, I don't know –"

"A . . . sporting chance, to catch him", Esposito finishes.

"It's a game to him, ladies and gentlemen," Jordan states, staring out the glass window into the rest of the precinct. "He's a chameleon when he wants to be invisible, and clearly visible when he wishes to be seen. He won't slip up, but he will leave bread crumbs."

"So . . ." Captain Gates begins, walking towards the front where Jordan stands, once again taking charge of the room. "Every feed, every camera, every angle – review everything. Leave no stone unturned. He's got to turn up on one of these cameras, and when he does, we follow the bread crumbs to wherever he is hiding out."

"Hopefully that will lead us to the girls," Agent Avery adds.

"He will ditch the coat," Richard Castle states softly, suddenly, as he stands. All eyes are on him, as he pushes himself away from the table, speaking for the first time since he entered the room. He makes his way toward the door leading out of the war room.

"What do you mean, Castle?" asks Jordan.

"I mean he will be dressed differently. A different coat or jacket. A different hat. He probably had a change of clothes stashed down in that station. Or – "

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. They all know what "or" means. "Or" means he will kill someone and take their clothes.

"Castle's right," Jordan states quickly. "Make sure you use the facial recognition applet on every male you see. I know it's time consuming, but-"

"No problem, Special Agent Shaw," a local FBI agent states. "We understand the drill."

Jordan Shaw merely nods her head - gratefully - then looks toward the door as Richard Castle reaches for the door knob.

"Where are you going, Castle?" she asks. Kate Beckett has followed his movements as well, and is just as curious with his intentions now. He has glanced her way only once since he entered, and other than that, he's given no indication that he even knows she is the same room with him. Bit by bit, she feels her carefully crafted world – a world she painstakingly and carefully has put back together over the years since her mother's death – slipping through her fingers.

"I'm going home," he states simply.

"Mr. Castle, you cannot -" Captain Gates begins, but Castle interrupts her.

"I'm going home," he states again, this time more forcibly. "You know where to find me, and if Dunn does anything, he is going to tell us. He will call you," he states, looking at Jordan. "Or he will call her," he finishes, glancing at Kate Beckett.

The use of the term 'her' does not go unnoticed by the non-local federal agents in the room, and it is only through sheer will that Kate Beckett doesn't break on the spot.

"Either way, nothing has changed from two years ago," Castle continues. "She's the story for him. We are just extras," he states, giving Kate a final glance as he walks out the door.

Captain Victoria Gates immediately reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out her cell phone. A few seconds later, she is giving instructions.

"Mr. Castle is leaving the building now. You have your instructions. Do not lose him."

She hangs up the call, then glances back to those in the room. "I have a detective and two plainclothes officers tailing Mr. Castle," she states. "I will not have anything happen to him – or any of our officers."

Fifteen minutes later, Richard Castle steps out of the cab in front of his building. He glances up and down the street, then upward at the buildings around him. Dunn could be anywhere. If he wanted everyone paranoid, then he has succeeded. He glances up at his loft window, and sighs as he enters his building. He walks past Mike, the internal door man for the building. The ex-Marine nods his head in greeting. Castle nods in return and continues walking. Suddenly, he stops, and backtracks toward the front door.

"Mike, have you seen anyone strange come or go?" he asks.

"No, sir, I can't say that I have. But I just got on the clock about half an hour ago. I can call Jerry, who was on before me if you want."

"Yeah, if you don't mind," Castle replies, as he heads to the elevator.

Minutes later, he is at his front door to his loft, his key in the door. He pauses, then shakes his head, as he opens the door. His heart leaps through his throat, and his legs falter briefly as he holds on to the door knob to stabilize himself.

"Pumpkin!" he screams, running to the kitchen area. Just in front of the bar stools at the kitchen island, on the floor, sit Alexis Castle and Jenna Shaw. The two girls are heavily tied up, back to back. Their feet are tied, their mouths are taped closed – tightly.

He falls to the floor in front of his daughter, tears of joy racing down his cheeks, as he reaches to remove the tape from her mouth. Suddenly he stops, his fingers mere inches from her face. Her eyes widen in surprise, seeing the fear in his.

"Alexis – bomb ? Explosives rigged to you? Is he in here?" he questions. This is, after all, a sadistic bastard who has shown great proficiency – both now and two years ago – with explosives. And hiding out using his daughter as bait?

Sure, Scott Dunn would do that.

"Alexis shakes her head, indicating nothing of the sort. He nods his head in understanding, then – as gently as he can – he removes the tape from her mouth, and the duplicates the movement for Jenna Shaw.

"Dad!" Alexis screams, finally able to speak, her tear-stained face and shoddily cropped hair the most beautiful sight Richard Castle has ever seen. He stands and quickly extracts a sharp knife from a drawer, and begins to untie both girls.

"Dad!" Alexis screams yet again, as he unties her hands.

"I'm right here, Pumpkin, I'm right here," he states. He has no idea why Dunn has freed them, and at this second, doesn't care. He knows that Dunn does nothing without design, but he is so relieved to see his daughter – both girls in fact – safe, that he disregards the sixth sense that screams at him.

"No, dad," Alexis continues, wrapping her now free but still trembling arms around her dad. He holds on to her tightly with one arm, and with the second arm grabs the equally frightened daughter of Tom and Jordan Shaw, and pulls her into his embrace.

"It's Grams, dad," Alexis whimpers into his ear.

His eyes widen, his heart sinks, and his stomach threatens to lurch for a second time this morning, as Alexis speaks the words he dreads hearing.

"He took Grams!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Magic: Chapter 10**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**February 23, 2012, 10:25 a.m.**_

Castle sits on his couch inside his loft, his thoughts racing. The officers assigned to him by Captain Victoria Gates remain close by. One plainclothes officer stands guard at the front door, while another stands watch down the hall at the elevator. The final guard, one of the detectives from the 12th Precinct not normally a part of Kate Beckett's team, stands inside the loft at the stairs.

Castle has his daughter under his right arm, and Jenna Shaw under his left – ever protective of the young girls, but his mind is far away.

His mind is on his mother, now a victim – hopefully still alive – of the madman targeting Detective Kate Beckett by attacking those close to her. Just thinking about his mother causes him to pull both girls closer, thankful for their safety. He places a soft kiss on the forehead of both young girls, who snuggle closer to the large man.

This is the scene that greets Jordan Shaw as she and her husband, Tom, enter the loft.

Her heart goes out to the man whose mother is now missing, but still takes the time to care for – and show love for – her daughter. It is a sight she consciously determines to file away for a future time.

"Momma!" shouts Jenna, jumping out of Castle's arms and running to her mother. Jordan – along with Tom – drops to the floor in the foyer entry of the loft as their young daughter launches herself into her parents' arms. They grab hold of their daughter with unabashed tears of pure joy streaming down their faces.

For Tom and Jordan Shaw, this morning is an answered prayer.

Deep down, Jordan didn't expect to see her daughter again, and the guilt she feels about even slightly giving up on regaining her daughter pricks at her. But Jordan Shaw is a professional – and she is a realist. She holds no illusions regarding the killer they face. He is ruthless, he is arrogant, and he likes to make things personal. More, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – in his history to suggest that he would ever even _consider_ releasing a hostage.

She also knows that this release has come at great cost to Richard Castle – a fact that is clearly evident as she watches the author from her vantage point on the floor of his foyer.

He is a contradiction of emotions right now. Clearly, he is happy to have his daughter back, and she watches as he absently strokes Alexis' shattered shreds of hair, as they now stand in front of the couch where they were seated just seconds ago. At the same time, he is just as clearly distraught over the taking of his mother.

Jordan knows that the Richard Castle/Martha Rogers relationship is an . . . interesting bond, to say the least. She also knows, however, that most sons become fiercely protective of their mothers, personal history be damned. Richard Castle is no different. If anything, he defines that unspoken and unique relationship as the son of Martha Rogers.

She gives her daughter a final tight tug, offering yet another prayer of thanks. She whispers her love for her in the young girl's ear.

"I love you, Jen-Jen," she tells her, and then she stands up and walks toward the author, and wraps her arms around the taller man as Kate Beckett walks through the open front door, with Detectives Esposito and Ryan in tow. Behind them, walks in Captain Victoria Gates.

Kate watches the scene unfolding in front of her with mixed emotions – fully understanding the relief and camaraderie shared between the two, yet clearly longing for the closeness with her partner that is definitely missing now, due to the morning's revelations.

"Rick, I'm so sorry," Jordan tells him softly, her arms around his neck. "I have to admit, I just don't have the words right now," she whispers.

He nods his head in understanding. "Me neither, Jordan," he says, as he breaks away from the embrace. "I'm glad you have your baby girl back," he says softly, and walks toward the kitchen where Beckett, Gates and the boys are now seated and standing at the bar stools.

He nods his head in acknowledgement to Kate – a small victory of sorts for the detective.

"So what do we know," he asks the room at large.

"All we know for certain," Kate says, "is that the next, quote – show – unquote, starts at 11 this morning."

"Show? Another show?" he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as he closes his eyes. "How do we know this?" He opens his eyes and gazes at his watch. 11 o'clock is less than half an hour away.

"Dunn called Beckett," Esposito explains.

"_Of course he did,"_ Castle thinks to himself, glancing at the clearly troubled detective in question. She can't read his thoughts, but doesn't need to. The look on his face says it all.

"He called about fifteen minutes after you left, Castle," says Kevin Ryan. "He said he would call again with the location."

"At that time we had no idea that Martha had been taken, Castle," Kate Beckett offers, hoping that any new information will break the glacier that has erupted between them.

"Any luck catching him on camera again?" Castle asks aloud to no one in particular, not noticing the look of disappointment on Kate's face.

"Not yet, Mr. Castle," states Captain Gates. "But we are still pouring through every available video," she continues. "We _will_ find him – and we _will_ find your mother."

Castle merely nods. He knows they will find her. It's all a part of how Dunn operates. They will find her because Dunn will _want_ them to find her. She will probably be a part of some elaborate magic trick brought to life, as was Dr. Carter Burke.

The thought of Martha Rogers being a player in another of Scott Dunn's macabre enactments causes him to wince, as he imagines his mother trapped in long box, part of a sword illusion. Or perhaps it will be a water tank, simulating one of Houdini's tricks.

"_God, please don't let it be another guillotine_," he thinks to himself, with fear momentarily clouding his eyes before determination kicks back in. He's running on pure adrenaline at this point. They all are, with limited sleep, if any. But he knows – he is certain that he will see his mother again. He just hopes and prays that she – and he – will live through the experience.

Kate Beckett watches her partner and has a good idea of the troubling thoughts about his mother running through his head.

"_Will he still be my partner after this?"_ she wonders to herself, then shaking those thoughts away. _"Focus, Kate, dammit,"_ she reminds herself. _"Nothing will matter if we don't get Martha back."_

Jordan Shaw also watches the author, and she, too, has a good idea of the frightening images that threaten to squeeze his sanity, minute by minute. Images that – until roughly half an hour ago – she, too, had about her daughter, before the phone call from Castle's protective officers back to the precinct gave everyone the good news.

Well . . . good news for some.

"Why take your mother, if this is about Beckett?" Kevin Ryan asks Castle.

"It's psychological," Castle says softly. "He's been clear about his endgame. His endgame is to hurt Beckett by hurting those around her. By hurting those she . . . by hurting those she cares for," he says, pausing to choose he words carefully.

"He wants Beckett to end up alone," Jordan Shaw states, her voice rising slightly in volume, her profiling mind starting to put things together. And no wonder, now that she has her daughter back, she has her focus back. Perhaps the arrogant bastard _did_ slip up, finally.

"He wants to take everyone she cares for away from her. He wants her to be alone – just as _he_ is alone," Jordan states, the thoughts still coming to her.

"In a way, he is enamored with you, Kate," Jordan continues. "Outside of trying to blow you up in your apartment, you've never really been the target of his bullets. He uses people to start a conversation with you. He kills people to pull you into engagements with him."

"What – are you saying this is his sick way of courting Detective Beckett?" asks Captain Gates, incredulously.

"It doesn't make sense to you, and it doesn't make sense to me – or any of us," Jordan responds. "But I promise you, it makes sense to him."

"What time did Alexis say they were brought back here, Castle?" she asks suddenly.

"5:30 this morning," he responds. "Why?"

"I'm trying to pinpoint exactly when he took your mother," she explains. "Creating a timeline can help us as we -"

Beckett's phone rings, interrupting the agent's thoughts. Everyone immediately circles the detective in anticipation. She glances at Richard Castle. He eyes her warily over the bridge of his nose – showing no emotion.

"Beckett," she answers, keeping eye contact with Castle, making sure the call is on her speakerphone so everyone can hear. Given today's happenings, a little transparency is needed, both for informational purposes as well as for pure trust reasons with her friends in the room.

"Hello, Kate," Scott Dunn answers.

"Where?" she quickly asks.

"595 Broome Street. Apartment 1A," he tells her, and she can hear him chuckling as he hangs up. Suddenly, it dawns on her, and the momentary horror that paints across her face is mirrored on Richard Castle's face.

"My God," he states, rushing to get Alexis to the front door, grabbing Jenna Shaw as he passes her.

"Get the girls out of here," he shouts, turning and making eye contact again with Kate.

"Castle, wait!" Jordan shouts, as the information shared in the phone call has not yet registered with anyone else in the room.

"He's downstairs!" Kate shouts to the room. "He's in the building! In apartment 1A!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Magic: Chapter 11**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**February 23, 2012, 10:50 a.m.**_

"The bastard has been right under my nose – under my home – all this time?"

Richard Castle is incredulous, his mind racing to accept this new information. Because he has past knowledge of Scott Dunn, because he knows what the killer has done in the past, the implications of this new revelation are both staggering and terrifying.

"Hold on – hold on, dammit!" he barely hears Special Agent Jordan Shaw shouting above the noise in his loft, slowing down the train that is barreling out Castle's dorm, ready to storm the gates downstairs below them. She rushes toward the door, knocking the plainclothes officer aside, surprising him with her physical strength.

"Everybody just hold the fort here!" she shouts, blocking the doorway. The pure terror she sees in Jenna's eyes is matched by what she sees in the eyes of Richard Castle's daughter. For a split second, she feels a pang of sympathy – wanted simply to hold on to the girls – but the second passes, as she morphs back into agent mode. This needs to end, now.

Holding her hands up, waiting as the room quiets down, she continues.

"This is exactly what Scott Dunn wants us to," she speaks, trying to keep her voice soft to – if nothing else – calm the rising tension and emotions threatening to explode in the room.

"He wants us rushing, blindly. He wants us anxious," she continues. "He's playing you, Mr. Castle," she says, staring at the author. "And he's playing you, detective," she continues again, this time staring down Kate Beckett.

"And he's done this before. You know this. So stop for a moment – take a step back, and let's learn from this morning and from what we learned about this man two years ago."

"Okay, Jordan, what do we know," a calmer, but still highly agitated Richard Castle says, knowing that his mother is likely right below him in some sinister trap.

"Get to the point, Jordan," Kate Beckett states, tapping her watch for emphasis.

10:52. Eight minutes to go.

"I mean this," the Federal Agent begins. "First, Captain Gates, we left Agent Avery and the team of locally-assigned FBI agents at your precinct, pouring through videos. Please call them and change their instructions. Give them every available video feed – every live video feed – within five blocks of this building."

Captain Gates nods her head in understanding.

"Good plan, Agent Shaw," she agrees. "Highly unlikely Mr. Dunn is downstairs, given his MO, but very likely he is close by."

"This morning he was within three blocks of the theatre, watching us and talking to us on video," Jordan continues. I'm expanding that by two blocks – just in case."

"We also know that he blew the building this morning after his little . . . show," Kate Beckett states, realization of what Shaw is driving at now fully hitting her. "We need to evacuate this entire building, every floor, every tenant."

"Correct," Jordan says, her mind prioritizing a slew of thoughts and ideas, all competing for her attention right now. "Start with the girls here. Detective Esposito, please take this floor. Detective Ryan you have the floor above us."

She continues assigning floors to the protective custody officers in the room. Their priorities, too, have now changed, as this is no longer an assignment to protect one man, but to protect every family in the building.

"Knock once, and then bust doors in if you have to," Kate Beckett orders, as the detectives and officers walk out the door. "But get these people out of here, and fast."

"And one other thing, officers," Jordan adds suddenly, almost as an afterthought. "Once you get them out, you _stay_ out. Do _not_ come back into the building. Take up flanks, each of you watching various buildings for a sighting," she concludes.

"Got it," Esposito says, his military experience now taking over. "I'll get everyone in position," he promises, and Jordan simply nods her head, while Kate catches his eyes, mouthing the words "Thank you, Javi."

Esposito gives her a nod and is headed out the door, along with Ryan and the other three plainclothes officers and the two younger girls when Jordan suddenly stops them, rolling her eyes in frustration.

"Dammit, dammit," she says, turning to look at Alexis Castle.

"Alexis," she begins, "when Mr. Dunn brought you back to the loft here, where was your grandmother? Was she already in his possession, or did he capture her at the same time he brought you back home?"

"No, I don't think he had her yet. He drugged both Jenna and I. We woke up back here, tied up, and Grams was sitting on the couch over there, tied up and . . . she was . . . she was tied up and gagged like we were," she finishes, looking at her dad who gives her an expressionless stare, simply nodding his head.

"Okay, Okay, that's good," Jordan states, clearly relieved.

"I don't understand," Alexis asks. "What difference does that make?"

"It means that hopefully, he didn't have time to bug your father's loft with listening devices or surveillance devices," Captain Gates answers, now off the phone after speaking with Agent James Avery, still back at the precinct with his new instructions.

"And if that is the case, we might finally be one step ahead of him," Kate adds.

"Or if nothing else, at the least we might be on the same footing for once," Jordan states. "It's a chance we have to take. Okay, get them out of here," she says finally to Esposito, who moves the girls out with his team. Jordan is already moving on to her next thought.

"Last thing, folks," Jordan says now to Captain Gates, Richard Castle and Kate Beckett – the three of them – along with Jordan Shaw - are the only ones now left in the room.

"Steel yourselves for what we might see downstairs," she says, staring directly at Castle, who nods in understanding. He's been steeling himself, all right, for the past half hour. He knows this isn't going to be pretty.

"And remember, and this is important," she continues, this time starting at Kate Beckett. "In his own warped reality, Scott Dunn is a fair man. He's going to give us conditions. He's going to give us rules. If we obey the rules, if we satisfy the conditions, then his past history suggests that he will honor his side of the equation. So whatever he asks, we answer truthfully. Whatever he tells us to do, we do to the letter of his law. There is no negotiating with this man, and there is no 'almost' with him either. It's either Pass or Fail, Yes or No."

Kate nods as well, and truth be told, Jordan is not worried about the detective or the writer. Her thoughts, right now, are more centered on the Captain. This captain has no experience with Scott Dunn, and she's been captain of this squad for just a few months. Before that, she was in IA, where the horrors of the street are just a little farther removed. Jordan idly wonders how Gates is going to fare with her first face-to-face visit with the horror that is Scott Dunn – even if it is by video.

She glances at her watch – simultaneously with Kate Beckett – who glances at hers.

10:57. Three minutes.

"Let's go, folks," Jordan states, and the four walk out of Castle's loft, heading for the elevator.

"Uh . . . you know, maybe . . ." Castle begins, and Jordan chimes in behind him.

"Good idea, Castle," she says. "Which way?" she asks, and follows Castle to the stairway, the entourage in tow. It's a quiet sojourn down the stairs leading to the first floor, each of them caught up in their own thoughts.

For Richard Castle, he just wants his mother free. If Dunn gets away again this morning, so be it. His priority is Martha Rogers.

For Kate Beckett, hers is a little more convoluted. She wants Martha free, yes. But she also wants reconnection with her partner, and she fears what new information Dunn may share that further splinters their relationship.

For Captain Victoria Gates, she is concerned about her lead detective, who clearly is not on her A-game right now, and the other detectives and officers now throughout the building.

Special Agent Jordan Shaw, however, is of another mindset entirely. She does not expect to survive this next encounter. She has seen enough of the mind of Scott Dunn to recognize that he is approaching his endgame, and history tells her he becomes more ruthless at this stage. Getting the detectives and officers out of the building was sound strategy, but it was also a calculated move on her part to ensure they were not here when the shit hit the fan – and she has no illusions that the shit is – indeed going to be flying. She considers one more time, a reason to get Victoria Gates out of the picture, and quickly makes up her mind. The best approach, she decides, with the no-nonsense Captain, is honesty.

They stand in front of Apartment 1A, and Jordan stops and turns to Captain Gates.

"Federal case - my jurisdiction, Captain. Get out of the building. Now," she states, matter-of-factly, staring at the surprised and wide-eyed brown eyes of the precinct captain.

"Kate, Castle and I have to be here. You do not. If things go wrong, the precinct can't afford to lose another captain this quickly," she offers her. "You know I am right. Get out."

Captain Gates stares at the FBI agent, anger and understanding fighting for victory in her mind. Kate Beckett pushes understanding across the goal line for her.

"She's right, Captain. The precinct needs you – it needs its captain," she says. "Go."

Gates nods her head slightly, with pursed lips, and turns to leave. She takes two steps and is stopped by the arms of Richard Castle, who turns her and pulls her into an uncomfortable hug. Jordan is right, Gates did not need to be here – and the more important revelation to Castle is that Gates knows this. She knows she should get out, she knows her place is outside, calling the shots, not placing herself here in the fray. Yet here in the fray she has chosen to be. Not for one of her officers. Not for one of her detectives. But for his mother.

For him.

It's a few long seconds before he releases here.

"Thank you, Captain," he says simply, then turns and walks back to the door leading into 1A.

"Ready," he says simply, and none of them are surprised as the door proves to be unlocked when Jordan Shaw turns the knob.

"Showtime," she says, walking through the door.

The three are immediately greeted with the same circus music that was playing at the theatre earlier this morning, obviously triggered by the opening of the front door. The entry area – very similar to Castle's – is brightly lit. It is the sight in the living room which causes all three to momentarily pause.

The living room has been transformed into a small, Las Vegas style nightclub venue – the kind that specializes in magic and illusions. There are two large, rectangular glass tanks, each around eight feet tall and 5 feet across, both filled with water. Each tank stands in front of a long black curtain that hangs from the ceiling. A hastily made paper sign is stapled to each curtain, with the words 'Tank 1' and 'Tank 2' written on each, respectively.

On top of each tank, is a metal plank that runs the left side of the tank to the opposite right side, positioned in the middle of the tank.

Sitting on the plank on the left tank is Martha Rogers. Her hands are bound in front of her, and her feet are bound as well. A silver-gray strip of duct tape covers her mouth. The haunting element is her eyes, that are now burned forever into Richard Castle's memory. There is a bit of fear in those eyes, but more than that – there is resignation. The older matriarch has lived quite a life, often by her own rules and often as a result of her own personal tragedies. It's clear she is determined to meet fate head on, and the look she gives her son tells him that she is ready to meet her maker.

Richard Castle has to step back, grabbing ahold of the wall behind him. The look of steel in her mother's eyes gives him strength, however, and he pulls himself back forward, walking toward the tank, with three prominent thoughts on his mind.

First, his mother is in deep trouble, and it's going to be entirely up to Scott Dunn whether she lives or dies. The feeling of helplessness is a knife to the gut.

Second, and more horrifically, he realizes - without reservation – that Ellis Clark is dead. The older, single man, retired from the business world years ago, is another victim of Scott Dunn, because this elaborate set-up had to take weeks to put together. Dunn's MO is filled with the killing of innocent people in order to take over their homes or their identities as needed. The realization that Ellis has probably been dead for weeks shakes the writer to his core.

Third, and this is the thought he knows is front and center with Kate Beckett beside him – is the realization that she will probably become an orphan this morning. On the plank atop second tank to the right sits a similarly bound and gagged Jim Beckett.

It is the sight of Jim Beckett on top of the second tank that immediately worries Jordan Shaw. Scott Dunn's MO is very consistent. He plays a game, and he keeps the rules of the game, even for himself. His morning, according to Kate Beckett, Dunn indicated that her dad is safe. Yet here he sits. Which means one of two things: One – Martha Rogers is a dead woman. Or two – Dunn was lying to Beckett this morning, and Jim Beckett is going to die.

The Fed isn't sure which scares her more. Losing his mother could destroy Castle. She knows enough about his history to know that he has no father. Scratch that, he has a father who he has never known. So, no, he doesn't have a father. Losing his mother? She fears what that would do to him.

The other option is downright terrifying, however. Her one shot, her only shot – their only shot – in beating Scott Dunn is his consistency, which eventually can be profiled and predicted. If he is changing his MO, then their chances for ending this spree just diminished significantly.

Kate Beckett, for her part, is paralyzed. She is stuck in the mud, unable to move, unable to speak. Of all of the visuals she was prepared to see when she walked through the door, anything – anything – including her dad was nowhere near that list. She had – now she realizes, foolishly – believed Dunn, and now he has given her the kick in the gut that has mentally disarmed her.

"You lying bastard," she says softly.

The three words stop Richard Castle, who has been moving toward his mother's tank, in his tracks. He turns back to her and stares at her incredulously, before sadly shaking his head and walking the final steps to his mother's tank.

"Mother," he says simply, and tears that he didn't realize were even forming now run down his chin, and drop to the floor below.

"Mr. Castle, I have to admit, this is far more touching than I anticipated," Scott Dunn says. All three turn to the left, toward the kitchen area to the sound of the voice, immediately seeing the large monitor with Dunn's smiling face. This monitor is not hooked to the wall, but instead, sits atop a make-shift television stand, with a long power cord to the wall.

Jordan Shaw raises a single eyebrow, and if anyone were looking closely enough, they just might have detected the very small smile that crosses her lips briefly, as she takes out her mobile phone from her jacket pocket, staying out of visual range of the video camera embedded in the monitor.

"_Got you,"_ she thinks to herself. She quickly touches the wi-fi icon on her iPhone, then watches as the wireless networks within range begin to come up. Quick guesswork tells her that 'Stormy Heat' is Richard Castle's home network upstairs. 'Barcelona' is a personal name, likely belonging to another family. No, she is looking for a non-descriptively named network. She's counting on Dunn's brevity and efficiency to have simply set up a network and not given it a name, and she is reasonably sure he wouldn't have set up a password. This was designed for one-time use. It's a gamble. And she is positive he would not have used the home network of the occupant for 1A.

_The occupant for 1A._

The realization of said occupants fate hits her, and she frowns briefly, then shakes the thought off.

"Focus, Jordan," she tells herself.

Then she sees it. 'Netgear44'. And it is unsecured.

"_There you are,"_ she smiles to herself. She quickly connects to the wi-fi network, and then pulls up James Avery's contact information, and types a text rapidly.

_JORDAN: James. Abort. Code Pulse1. Am connected to a wi-fi net. Find me, grab IP address_

She waits for no more than twenty seconds for the reply, and smiles at the ingenuity of her partner back at the precinct.

_JAMES: Got you and your network. Searching for other connected devices._

Scott Dunn is talking, but Jordan is not paying attention. She figures she is going to die here – something tells her that he isn't going to let them – or anyone else – out of this building alive. But she can still make sure that James Avery and Captain Gates catch the bastard. Her heart jumps with elation at the next text from her partner.

_JAMES: Found 3 connected devices. You and 2 others. Got the MAC address and the IP address. Tracing._

She nods her head knowingly. There is no more she can do on that front now. Avery has the MAC address for the video monitor talking to them in the room, and for the video monitor at Dunn's end that he is using. A quick trace will lead them directly to Dunn. No matter how this turns out, if luck holds finally, they will have him. Seconds later, she gets the final text she has been hoping for.

_JAMES: Got it. Deploying._

She closes her phone and now focuses on the conversation in front of her. She's missed no more than a couple of minutes, and so far, nothing has happened yet.

During that time? Well, said conversation has yielded interesting fruit.

"Mr. Castle, I have to admit, this is far more touching than I anticipated," Scott Dunn says.

"What's the game this time, Dunn?" he asks, thankful that his voice has held strong and not cracked, not betrayed him.

"Well, that depends," Dunn answers. "Our detective seems out of sorts. I'm not sure she has her full capacities," he chuckles, seeing the still catatonic Kate Beckett who stares blankly at Jim Beckett.

"Dammit, Kate, snap out of it!" Castles barks to her, and his sudden verbal slap works, bringing her back to the present. The dull blankness in her eyes immediately replaced with the familiar fire, as her face hardens, turning to the monitor.

"Ah, _there_ you are, Nikki," Dunn offers gleefully.

"It's Beckett," she glares, staring at the monitor while she walks up to the tank entrapping Jim Beckett. She is now side by side with Castle, with roughly seven or eight feet separating them as each stands in front of their parent.

"Whatever," Dunn states, waving his hand in dismissal. "We both know who you are, detective," he continues. "That's why I chase you so fervently, why I have come back for you."

Something about his tone begins to concern Kate even more, as this calmer, almost reverential version of Scott Dunn is far scarier than the killer she has come to know.

"When you first . . . defeated me, Kate, I was very . . . very . . . _very_ angry. I really wanted to kill you, then and there," he tells her. "But I can't kill you, Kate. I find that you and I are . . . more alike than I realized."

"We are nothing alike, Dunn. You're a monster, and –"

"And you are not?" he asks. "How many men have you led along into your web, detective?" The malice is back in his voice now, full force, and the temporary softness in his eyes is now gone.

"How many have fallen down the rabbit hole of Katherine Beckett, only to be discarded after use," he asks her with plain disgust, more as a statement than a question.

"Exhibit A is Detective Thomas Demming," Dunn says casually, and the black curtain behind Tank 1 falls, revealing smaller tank, just behind and to the right of the tank supporting Martha Rogers. This tank is roughly seven feet tall and three feet wide. Inside the water-filled tank is Tom Demming. His lifeless eyes stare out at Richard Castle and Kate Beckett, as she falters. Castle, seeing her sway from the corner of his eye, quickly moves to catch her, her knees dragging on the floor. He hoists her back up as she buries her face in his chest, pounding on his shoulders.

For her part, Jordan Shaw chooses to stay out of the picture, out of sight of the camera. She won't leave the grisly scene, but right now, Dunn doesn't seem to notice her absence. She will use this to her advantage.

"Uh oh," Dunn says, still chuckling. "I fear I may have overstepped this time," he says, as the second black curtain falls to the floor, revealing a second, identical tank – this one with the still remains of Dr. Josh Davidson floating lifelessly.

Kate turns to look, but Castle holds her head in place, firmly against his chest. "Don't look, Kate."

He doesn't know what – or how – he feels about her at this moment, but she doesn't deserve this. He stares at the bodies floating in the tanks. They didn't deserve this either. And this is what awaits the two parents sitting atop their own watery tombs.

"It's Josh," he whispers silently to her, and her legs give way, and he allows her to slowly drop to the floor, his arms supporting her the entire way down. She looks weak, and defeated.

He's on his own, now.


	12. Chapter 12

**Magic: Chapter 12**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**February 23, 2012, 11:10 a.m.**_

Kate Beckett sits along the floor, rocking back and forth, as tiny sounds of anguish bubble up from the back of her throat. She is in the midst of a horror story, playing out for her benefit. She is the very picture of catatonic at this moment.

In truth, she is anything but.

She has taken the upstairs warning issued by Jordan Shaw to heart.

"_Steel yourselves for what we might see downstairs,"_ she had said. And although it appeared her warning was primarily for Richard Castle, something about the words stuck in Kate's mind, and that mind was singularly focused as she, Jordan and Castle had walked into the apartment.

True, seeing her dad sitting atop a tank of water that she knew could eventually become his coffin was disarming – she didn't expect to see her dad here.

"_Steel yourselves for what we might see downstairs." _

Ever the detective, she has taken in her surroundings despite the horrific show playing out in front of her, and the second thing that has caught her eye – after the tanks of death in front of her, of course – are the showy, black curtains hanging behind the tanks.

Kate has seen enough illusionist routines to know that a curtain in a magic show has one purpose: to hide something that will eventually be revealed. So she is certain, as she takes in the images of Martha Rogers and Jim Beckett sitting atop their respective tanks, that there is more to come, likely behind the curtains.

And more than that - if Scott Dunn is playing the magician role properly – then the reveal behind the curtains will be far more . . . disturbing than the visible danger he has already presented to them.

The third realization that hits the detective is the fact that Special Agent Jordan Shaw is hanging back, near the door. It's a comforting thought as Kate immediately realizes that Jordan is intentionally trying to stay out of view of the camera. There are two logical reasons that come to her mind for Jordan's behavior.

One – Jordan doesn't want Dunn to know she is there. Why? Who knows?

Two – Jordan doesn't want Dunn to see what she is doing.

Now, that second scenario makes more sense. Just as Kate has noticed the curtains and is trying to determine what else is going on here behind those curtains, Jordan has likely noticed something as well. A quick glance backwards, and Kate notices Jordan typing something on her phone.

"_Okay, she's on to something. I need to keep Dunn's attention here. I need to make sure he doesn't wonder why Jordan isn't here,"_ she thinks to herself.

Still, when the curtain drops, and she sees Tom's lifeless eyes, seemingly staring directly at her, it has the absolute effect desired by Scott Dunn.

The give in Kate's legs is real, and thankfully, Richard Castle is there to stabilize her. She knows the girls are safe, so it couldn't be them behind the curtain. She knows Lanie is safe, as she has spoken with the medical examiner not even an hour ago, making sure her friend was safe at the precinct. Ryan has been in constant contact with Jenny, so it's not her. It hasn't occurred to her that Dunn would reach this far back into her past to hurt her.

Her face is now in Richard Castle's chest, buried in his shirt, as she fights to compose herself.

"_Steel yourselves for what we might see downstairs."_

Tom didn't deserve this. He was a good detective, and a better man. She had hurt him when she had broken things off during that disastrous summer two years ago, and he had responded with nothing but understanding and gentle elegance. He didn't deserve this, and the tears stinging her eyes over her ex-boyfriend are real.

Immediately, instinctively, she knows what – or who – is behind curtain number two. It makes sense that if Dunn knows about Tom, then he certainly knows about Will Sorenson and Josh Davidson as well. In seconds, she comes to this realization, and begins to prepare herself for that sight. Moreover, she needs to think. What has Jordan seen that she has missed? She can't help Tom anymore, and she can't help Will or Josh – if that's who is going to be revealed next – anymore either. But she can help her dad. She can help Martha.

It strikes her – briefly – that this is a bit callous, a bit impersonal. She deletes such thoughts immediately. She's a detective. As cold and heartless as it sounds, it is time to _detect_. The time for recollections, remembrances and grief will come later – if they can all get out of his alive.

Then it hits her. Jordan is hanging back. She has the opportunity to take everything in. For all she knows, Jordan is planning some form of counter-attack back there. But the key is she is out of sight.

"_And that's where I need to be,"_ Kate tells herself. _"Out of sight."_

The second dropped curtain gives her the opportunity she needs. Castle confirms her suspicions. It is Josh.

Truth be told, she and Josh didn't part on the best of terms. Okay, that's a bit of an understatement. There is no love lost for Dr. Josh Davidson. Right, there was never any love in the first place. She was never Josh's top priority, and Josh was never hers' either. Josh was a mistake, pure and simple; a selfish, calculated move on her part to hide herself from Richard Castle. Another in a long, damning line of missteps she has made trying to avoid her feelings for the man currently holding her upright.

No, the news that Josh is the second body in the second tank does not surprise her.

_But Scott Dunn doesn't know this._

She can take advantage of this. And so she does. Her reaction to seeing Tom, dead in the tank, was genuine. Her reaction to the revelation of Josh is not. She allows her legs to give way – again – but once again, Castle holds her upright.

"_Dammit, Castle, let me drop!"_ she screams inside her head, if possible, willing the writer to let her fall to the ground. Fortunately, he finally complies, lowering her as gently as he can until her knees hold her upright on the cold wood floor. She rocks back and forth in simulated grief, listening as Richard Castle now speaks to Dunn.

"You've made your point, Dunn," he says, looking courageously into the monitor. "Now what? What's the game with my mother and Beckett's father?"

"_Good, Castle. Keep him occupied," _Kate thinks, still rocking back and forth, but eyes darting around, looking for something – anything – out of place that can help them. The longer Castle can stretch this macabre act out, the more time she has to come up with something to save both of their parents. The one thing she knows – without a doubt – is that at least one of their parents is dying this morning if they don't come up with something. Dunn is going to make them choose one or the other. The longer they delay that decision, the better their chances are.

"Much as I dislike the notion, I have to admit a bit of admiration for you, Mr. Castle," Scott Dunn tells him. "Honestly, I would have bet money that the roles would have been reversed, and it would be you groveling on the floor instead of Detective Beckett."

"I'm glad to disappoint you," Castle responds. "But you haven't answered my question."

"Well, that's the thing, Mr. Castle," Dunn continues. "You aren't calling the shots here."

"_Good, Castle. Keep going,"_ Kate thinks as her eyes scan the floor. He's going to release them into the tanks. Back at the theatre, he had some type of remote trigger to control the miniature guillotine that was strapped to Dr. Carter Burke.

Dr. Burke. Kate winces as she thinks of the physical and psychological damage done to a good man whose only crime was his relationship with her, his inner knowledge of secrets she had shared with him as a part of doctor-patient privilege.

"_Dammit, Kate, focus!"_ she tells herself again. Every idle thought becomes seconds wasted, and she knows that seconds are going to be important here. And right now she is searching for that remote trigger. It has to be here somewhere. It's either going to be some type of cable, or wire – which she looks for . . . or it might be a 'soft trigger' using a wireless, network command. In that case, she's screwed.

Fortunately, Jordan Shaw is having similar thoughts right now. And the Federal Agent has noticed that the 'distraught with grief' detective floundering on the floor is – in fact – alert and searching for answers. She smiles at the ingenuity of the detective, and immediately changes her own chain of thought.

"_What's Beckett looking for?"_ she wonders to herself. Then her profiling nature takes over.

"_OK, think Jordan,"_ she tells herself. Castle can carry the conversation with Dunn. Kate's allowing him to do so. Why? Why would she take herself out of the play, with her dad's life in the balance, with Martha's life in the –"

"_Ah, good girl,"_ Jordan nods. She can't be sure, but if she is right, Kate is looking for some type of trip mechanism. Kate knows he's going to pull the plug on one – or both – of their parents. She is trying to find a cable or a wire that will disarm his switch. Smart girl. Suddenly, a smile lights up the Federal Agent's face.

"_Checkmate,"_ she tells herself, taking her phone out and punching up Agent Avery one more time. He's already en route to wherever Scott Dunn is broadcasting from. She knows this, but hopefully he left at least one of the local agents behind.

_JORDAN: James, urgent. How close are you to target, and who is still at precinct?_

This is a gamble, she knows. Timing will be everything. Getting him to cut the network connection, getting him to force a disconnect from the devices or to reset – and therefore, momentarily take down - the wireless router will be child's play. That will disconnect the video signal. It will end the 'act' Dunn is so proud of. And it will cut his wireless control of the mechanism to release the platform holding Martha Rogers and Jim Beckett.

That's the good news.

The bad news? Well – timing is everything.

The safe thing to do will be to get Avery to cut the connection as soon as possible. That way, both Martha Rogers and Jim Beckett are safe.

The down side is that if they cut the connection too soon, before Avery and the team of agents can reach the serial killer, wherever he is, well – it means that a madman is still free to continue to wreak havoc. Only now, this madman will be angry. Very angry.

She considers the damage he has done already. The faces of Joe and Sarah Coulter pass by her eyes. She squeezes the thought away, but the image is replaced by their daughter, Beth. How is she going to explain this to Jenna? And how damaged – emotionally – is her little girl going to be over this entire ordeal?

She is shaken from her reverie by the incoming ping on her phone. She glances down and smiles.

_JAMES: ETA 2 minutes. Agent Sloan is back at the precinct._

Good, good, she knew she could trust James Avery's discipline to stick with protocol.

_JORDAN: Can he disconnect the network connection or the devices? _

Seconds later, the response comes back.

_JAMES: Yes_

_JORDAN: Need his number_

Instead of simply providing Sloan's number, Agent Avery recognizes what Jordan is planning. He sends a new text back to Jordan, and Jordan smiles as she recognizes that James has started a new text stream, this time with both he and Jordan along with Agent Sloan as participants in the chat screen.

"_Good thinking, James,"_ she thinks, as she realizes now, this way, all three can see each other's 'thoughts' at the same time. Seconds are going to count here.

_JORDAN: When I say CUT, cut the connection. I will try to wait until you are there, JA_

"_C'mon, Castle,"_ she pleads, looking back to the front of the living room where Castle continues to carry on his conversation with Dunn. _"Just a couple of minutes more."_

Castle, for his part, has reached the crossroad with Dunn, who is now giving the 'rules' for the current scene playing out.

"So, here is the deal, Mr. Castle," Dunn says. "Since Detective Beckett has taken herself out of the game, you get the cat-bird's seat," he continues, chuckling.

"Martha Rogers will live, and Jim Beckett will drown, drown like the drunk rat he is, his AA meetings notwithstanding . . . ooooooorrrrr . . . Jim Beckett will live, and Martha Rogers no longer has to worry about her barely alive show business career ever again. And you, Mr. Castle? You get to decide."

Castle's head falls backward as he stares blankly at the ceiling. Of all the thankless positions he could find himself – choosing one life over another . . . And he knows there is really no choice here. His mother is going to live. Any chance he has with Kate Beckett dies this morning . . .

"Oh, and Mr. Castle," Dunn tells him, almost in a sing-song voice. "There _is_ a time limit on this decision." He pauses for effect.

"Sixty"

"_Shit, there's got to be a way –"_

"Fifty-nine"

Beckett chooses this moment to stand, as she has heard 'the deal' proposed. She can't ask Castle to choose her dad over his own mother . . .

"Fifty-eight"

Especially given what he has learned about her this morning . . .

"Fifty-seven"

Castle notices her standing beside him now. Yeah, he is going to lose her forever over this . . .

"Fifty-six"

But did he ever really have a chance with her? Hell, he told her he loved her . . .

"Fifty-five"

And her response? Nothing. Nada. Zip.

"Fifty-four"

"_They say there are some things better not remembered"_

"Fifty-three"

That was her eloquent response. That's how she responded to his admission of love . . .

"Fifty-two"

Yeah, the timing could have been better. But still – seven months?

"Fifty-one"

Kate can see – like a movie playing out in front of her – the thoughts running rampant inside his mind, the pain, the anger, the disappointment on his face . . .

"Fifty"

Jordan listens to the countdown, and types another message quickly into the chat screen. Time is running out.

_JORDAN: Guys, we have maybe 30, 40 seconds at most_

The agent watches the dismal scene playing out in front of her. Dunn's countdown adds an eerie, disconcerting air to an already terrifying situation.

"Forty-nine"

She is fairly certain that when the network connection is cut, it will also trigger the fail-safe that Dunn undoubtedly has rigged.

"Forty-eight"

Back at the theatre, Dunn had also started a one-minute countdown, but in that case . . .

"Forty-seven"

. . . the countdown there had been for the bombs rigged in the building.

"Forty-seven"

It's highly unlikely that Dunn stayed at his location for the entire countdown . . .

"Forty-six"

Since he was in the street, able to follow Castle so quickly . . .

"Forty-five"

"I'm so sorry, Rick. I'm so sorry," Kate tells Rick.

"Forty-four"

"Free Martha," she tells him, her eyes glistening, as she turns and walks back to the tank supporting Jim Beckett.

"Forty-three"

"I love you, dad," she tells him, and she sees the resignation in his eyes. For a second, she closes her own, because this is not how she wants to remember her father . . .

"Forty-two"

"He's gone!" a surprised Richard Castle yells to no one in particular.

"What?" Kate asks, incredulous.

"Forty-one"

Kate glances at the screen, and sees the number countdown, white numbers on a black screen. But Dunn is gone.

"Forty"

"He's gone, Kate? Are you sure?" Jordan yells across the room.

"Yes, it's just numbers on the screen now," she yells back.

Immediately, Jordan types the words in. She hopes, she prays, she begs as she stares upward, that Avery and the team are there, that they catch him.

"Thirty-nine"

She knows she can wait no longer. They will have him in custody - or have him dead - or they won't. She hits SEND.

_JORDAN: CUT!_

"Thirty-eight"

"Beckett, Castle. Move!" Jordan yells, as she pulls her Glock and aims at the first tank.

"Thirty-seven"

Kate Beckett – through years of in-field training – is on the ground instantaneously. Castle, on the other hand, with years of writing as his training, finds himself standing alone, frozen in place.

"Thirty-six"

"Castle!" Kate cries, as she scrambles on her knees toward the writer.

"Thirty-five"

She launches herself upward into his mid-section, a hard body block that sends them both sprawling. They land less than two feet from the corner of the first tank.

"Thirty-four"

The loud bark of the Glock pistol spraying bullets into the first tank causes both to cover their ears as they hover on the ground. Their senses are further assaulted by the sheer volume of water rushing out from the first tank which has exploded inward, releasing its contents into the room.

"Thirty-three"

Before they can get their bearings, the Glock screams again, with another hail of bullets this time into the second tank, which holds stronger than the first . . .

"Thirty-two"

. . . before exploding inward, as its sister tank did seconds earlier. Fortunately, for both tanks, it is the front glass that has given way. The integrity of the back glass wall on each is in question, but for now, the two side walls have held in place. The metal structures supporting the side glass pieces have done their job.

"Thirty-one"

Now Jordan is running – best she can – sloshing through the onrushing water that threatens to flood the first floor room.

"Get them down, get them down," she yells her partners, who have yet to find their footing against the sudden current of water.

"Thirty"

Suddenly, the video monitor goes blank. For a second, then two seconds, there is silence. All notice the silence, but only Jordan knows what it means. She also knows that the countdown that Dunn put in place was not for Castle to make a decision, as he believes. It was another countdown to trigger a bomb. That's his MO. Pure deception. Otherwise he would still be on screen, counting down personally.

Castle is now standing in front of his mother, yelling at her.

"Fall forward, mother!" he implores her, and he catches her, barely, as she makes the three to four foot plunge into his soaking wet arms.

A similar scene plays out to his side, as Kate Beckett and Jordan Shaw brace themselves to catch the falling Jim Beckett.

"Hurry!" Jordan screams, now roughly dragging Jim Beckett toward the front door, the water still almost a good foot deep, rushing outward throughout the rest of the apartment, finding open space.

"We have maybe twenty seconds, tops," she tells them above the rushing water.

"What are you talking about?" Castle asks, still standing in place with Martha Rogers.

"A bomb, Castle – he planted another bomb!" Jordan yells back, not turning around. "Now move your ass!"

Within seconds, the door is open, and the water is finding a new place to flow, easing their path. Beckett, catching up with Jordan, has now taken hold of her father, and pulls him through the entry area of the building toward the glass revolving doors leading out.

"Rick, Come on!" she yells, pleading behind her, hoping that Castle and his mother are close behind. Another few seconds, and she is in the middle of the street, her badge flashing, her dad now literally on the ground, her hand grasping his shirt by the shoulder, roughly dragging the older man along.

Castle – with Martha Rogers in his arm clutching tightly to her son's neck - clear the sidewalk leading up to the revolving doors when the first explosion rocks the building, followed quickly by a second and third explosion, which – like the theatre before, level the building in an imploding manner, as the building falls in on itself. The smoke and debris from the implosion scatter into the streets, stopping traffic, and the inevitable crunch of crashing cars adds to the cacophony of sounds assaulting them.

Castle scans the area, and smiles when he finds Jordan Shaw – her face now brown and gray with residue from the blast. He scans further into the street, and smiles and nods at Kate Beckett, whose face is similarly painted with the remains of the building.

His building.

His home.

He stands in the street, now holding hands with his mother who stands beside him, as they both stare upward at . . . nothing. They stare at the space where their home used to be. Martha releases a long-held-in sob, both in gratitude and grief.

Jordan remains in-the-moment. She has her phone in hand, and has sent a simple question to Avery. She wants to know if they have him. She wants to know if it's over, or whether or not more acts have to play out before they take this madman down.

She knows it was close. James and the team had initially only been two minutes away, and had to be within a minute away when Dunn started his countdown. And the fact that he has not responded to her query tells her that whatever is going down with Dunn is going down right now – at this moment. The only reason he wouldn't respond to her is because he can't.

She glances back at the writer and his mother, and her heart goes out to him. She is thankful – so thankful that both are alive. It then hits her.

"_I'm alive too."_

The realization brings a smile to her face. She really didn't expect to walk out of that building. She really didn't expect . . .

Her phone pings. She glances down.

_JAMES: We got him._

**A/N:** One more chapter to go. Thanks for staying along for the ride. This story, as you can tell, is not about Castle and Beckett, nor is it about Castle and Jordan. This is a story about Scott Dunn, and how a depraved mind can cause such mental, emotional and physical havoc.


	13. Chapter 13

**Magic: Epilogue**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**February 23, 2012, 1:45 p.m.**_

"Are you sure we have him this time?"

Richard Castle isn't trying to nitpick, or be sarcastic. His reasoning is sound. They captured Scott Dunn once before, and sent him to prison. At least they thought they had sent him to prison. That fact is very much in question right now.

"He's in a holding cell at our FBI office here in the city," responds Agent James Avery.

"That sounds an awful lot like what we heard two years ago," Kate Beckett offers. "I'm not trying to be difficult, but –"

"Understand completely, Kate," Special Agent Jordan Shaw counters. "I share your concerns. But I also know we have two agents standing watch, and we have taken every precaution."

The mood at the 12th Precinct is decidedly upbeat. Word has spread over the past couple of hours that the serial killer Scott Dunn was apprehended. It's clearly cause for celebration and there have been exchanges of high-fives and back-slaps amongst most of the officers and agents.

Most of them.

Jordan Shaw is not one of them. The loss that she and her husband feel is tangible and evident on both of their faces. Their daughter sits with them in the bullpen, her eyes darting from face to face, her body a skittish mash of nervousness.

"_Damn him for what he's done to her,"_ Jordan reflects silently, as she uses her fingers to mindlessly brush through her daughter's hair with one hand, while the other remains firmly grasped within the hands of her husband. Their daughter is traumatized and who knows what type of professional help is going to be required to make things good for her again. Normal is out of the question. Good is still a possibility. Further, their good fortune that Tom was not targeted by the madman is not lost on either of them. The added loss is that they are headed home tonight and are now without their best friends in the world, and their daughter is without her best friend – all victims of Dunn's killing spree.

Kate Beckett is not celebrating either. The loss she feels, while not as significant in terms of the taking of life, is just as stinging. She is a mess of emotions and confliction now, and the man who has been helping her up to this point is a physical – and probably emotional – mess, himself. With Dr. Carter, she has made tremendous strides in her journey. Now? Well, who knows how happy the good doctor will be to even see her? And that doesn't even take into consideration that he probably isn't ready to see any patients anyway – not right now – perhaps not for a while.

Her dad is fine, a few scrapes and bruises from being so roughly handled – or manhandled – by Jordan as she dragged him out of Castle's building. He realizes that Kate wasn't choosing Martha Rogers over him, when Kate told the writer to save his mother. He realizes that Kate was simply telling him that it was okay, that she understood his choice was clear. The look on his daughter's face when she had turned back to him and expressed her love to him was more than enough. He's lost his wife already. Losing his life isn't that difficult.

No, what bothers Kate this afternoon is the empty seat next to her desk. True, she wasn't expecting Richard Castle to be there this afternoon. He's got a daughter to look after, a mother to embrace, and no home to do either in. His loss is enormous. His absence is even larger. And she senses that this absence isn't going to be a temporary one.

For months, Dr. Carter had encouraged her to come clean.

"A lie never lives to be old, Kate. And when a lie finally sees the light of day, it dies, and in its place something new is born," he had told her countless times. "It gives birth either to eventual trust, or ultimate distrust. Which is born depends upon how the lie comes to light."

He had told her, numerous times, that Richard Castle could never 'find out' about the lie. She has to 'tell' him. He needs to hear it from her. Soon. If he finds out on his own, then a world of distrust would be born. If she comes clean and tells him, well yeah, he'd be angry for awhile, but trust can come from that.

Coming clean is not an option anymore. And she knows that clear distrust is now the status quo. When she saw him walk off with Martha and Alexis, it wasn't anger in his eyes as he looked back at her. It wasn't disappointment either, or even disgust. It is hard – even now – for her to find the words to describe his look, but one thing is very clear. He no longer trusts her. In his mind, he has given everything for her, and for what?

Javier Esposito walks to her desk, flanked by Kevin Ryan. Both are smiling, and she puts on the front for the two men she considers her brothers, her family. Both are smart enough to recognize the conflict in their boss, and both just take seats next to her. Ryan places a cup of coffee from the break room's coffee machine on her desk. She smiles in gratitude externally. Internally, it is another reminder of who isn't here; of who isn't bringing her coffee right now.

Laughter explodes from across the room, as James Avery and a couple of other FBI agents recount the capture of Scott Dunn. As Jordan Shaw had expected, Dunn had placed the countdown on auto-pilot, with a taped video for his audience back at Castle's building. She considers it pure providence that he left the wireless network he installed unprotected. In truth, because of that lapse, it was actually darn near child's play for them to find him, and she smiles as Avery recounts the look of pure surprise on Dunn's face when he opened the door and walked into the hallway – thinking he was home free – where a half dozen armed federal agents were silently crouching and advancing.

In all, it went down far too easily, with so little fan-fare given everything that led up to that moment.

"48 hours," Jordan says as she walks to Kate's desk, pulling up a chair to join the trio. "Not even 48 hours, and look at the damage he did."

Kate nods.

"Some damage we can't even see yet," she adds, and the Federal Agent knows of what – or rather – _who_ the detective speaks about, in hushed tones.

"Yeah, well it's over now," Esposito says.

"For some," Jordan counters, looking directly at Kate, who eyes her back, nodding. Jordan knows that things will get better – they always do. But things will never be the same.

Not for Jordan's family.

Not for Kate.

And not for Richard Castle.

Some doors - once opened - cannot be closed. They can be painted, they can be finished, you can put a screen door up – but those doors are forever open.

Jordan considers – for probably the tenth time in the last hour – calling the writer. The visual of her daughter, snuggled to his side, his head atop hers and arm around her while waiting in his loft for the agent and her husband is a picture that Jordan will keep forever. He easily could have put all of his focus on his own daughter earlier this morning. He easily could have had one of the other officers take care of Jenna while he and Alexis celebrated her freedom. Instead, he shared the celebration – and the emotional support – with Jenna as well. The memory releases a tear that she fights to contain.

Her head turns sharply as she hears Kate.

"Castle!" Kate exclaims, with a nervous smile and genuine happiness.

He nods at her, walking past Kate, Espo and Ryan as he reaches for Jordan's hand.

"Just a minute, Beckett. I need a word with Agent Shaw, here," he tells her.

Grabbing her hand, he guides her out of the chair and points to an empty interview room ahead. "This one should be fine," he tells her as they walk in and shut the door.

Pulling her into a tight embrace, Castle begins to whispers to her, but chokes up, just barely audible and full of emotion he's obviously kept pent up for the past couple of hours.

"Thank you, Jordan," he finally gets out. "Thank you for catching him, for getting my mother out of there." He squeezes her tightly, and she feels the emotions surging in him.

"No," she says, pushing him far enough away so that he sees her eyes. "You stayed with Jenna, you watched over her until Tom and I could get to her," she says, finally releasing those tears of gratitude. "I will never, never forget that, Rick."

"Oh, it's Rick now?" he half smiles. A full-blown grin just isn't there right now. He doesn't have it in him.

"Yeah, well, don't get too excited," she smiles, and hugs him again.

"I gotta tell you, this turned out a lot better than I was imagining things just last night," he tells her, pulling away and running his hand through very tired hair.

"Right there with you," she tells him. "I didn't think we'd see our girls again, and I sure as hell didn't think we were getting out of your building alive this morning."

"Yeah . . . yeah," he mumbles, his mind racing back to this morning.

"Rick – you can buy or build a new house," she reminds him. "You got the good end of this deal. Your daughter, your mom. A house is a trade-off I'd make in a second."

"I know, you're right. You're right."

He hugs her one last time, and then starts back to the door of the interview room.

"Don't be a stranger, Jordan," he tells her, his smile genuine.

"I won't be, Rick. Count on it."

Leaving the interview room, he walks back toward Beckett's desk, nodding in acknowledgement to Tom Shaw, who is up and heading to greet his wife, just a couple of steps behind Castle.

"Got a minute?" he asks Kate, holding his hand out. She realizes it's not really a question. Her heart has made a herculean leap into her throat, and she stands quickly, pointing out a different, more private room for them to talk.

"No, not here," he tells her, leading her to the elevator.

"Wait, Castle, I –"

"There's nothing here that won't wait, Kate," he tells her evenly, guiding her to the elevator and punching the down button.

The doors open, and the two partners – are they still partners – enter. Kate takes three steps in and leans back against the back wall of the elevator, while Castle stops one step short, and turns to face the now closed doors. He punches floor 1, and then drops his hands to his side, not looking back.

A few seconds later, the door opens and the first floor beckons them. Castle steps to the side, holding his arm outward indicating she should walk out ahead of him. She steps off the elevator, and waits, as he joins her. Grabbing her arm, he allows his hand to slide down her arm into her hand, and interlocks his fingers with hers, as he leads her toward the outside doors of the precinct building. Kate's heart leaps with renewed hope. He is – after all – the most forgiving man she knows. Left by two ex-wives, and still more than friendly with both of them. Maybe things aren't as bad as she feared.

That thought dies quickly, once they get to the doors. The February sun and still cold air fight to get inside. At the door, he guides her for a few steps to the side, then stops. He turns her so that her back is to the inside wall of the precinct building. He turns to face her.

"I love you, Kate," he begins. "I guess that is no surprise anymore." His eyes are fierce, not gentle. There is a fire in them, but not the passionate fire she expects when she hears those words spoken.

"But I have to tell you, I don't like you very much right now," he continues. "I don't like you very much at all."

Her heart sinks. This doesn't sound like a lengthy conversation. This sounds like goodbye.

He looks down, wiping his face with both hands, his hands lingering at his eyes above his nose, before dropping back to his side and then into his pockets.

"And . . ." he pauses, searching for the right words, because he only wants to do this once. "And you're not going to like me very much anymore, either," he tells her.

"Seems like we both have kept secrets from each other. Yours was an outright lie. Mine was one of omission," he tells her, the fiery determination in his eyes returning.

"I don't understand –"

"Just let me finish, Beckett," he interrupts, and his use of her last name is different this time. Not the jovial, casual, almost nickname way he uses it. This time he almost spits the name out.

"I've been protecting you. Protecting you from those who tried to kill you. I don't know who they are, I don't know where they are. All I know is that months ago, a mysterious man called me and told me that Roy had made a deal to save your life. But the information he had that was the basis of this deal never reached whoever these people are in time, and so he died, and you got shot. But that deal stands now."

"What do you mean? What deal?"

"The deal to keep you alive. The deal that Roy tried to broker. That deal is now in place."

"Why? How? How is a deal for my life in –"

"Because _I_ made the deal, Beckett," he tells her, his voice smaller.

Her eyes go wide. Surprise, anger, a myriad of emotions are assaulting her right now. She opens her mouth to speak, but he shuts her off, once again.

"Someone who obviously is in the know about your mother's murder came to me, with a deal to keep you alive. I accepted the deal-"

"You made a deal for my life?" she barks angrily. "What gives you the right –"

"Kate Beckett . . . shut the hell up, would you?" he explodes, and his anger stuns her. She has seen many sides to her writer/partner, but pure uncaged fury is a first.

"You would stand here, self-righteous, angry at me for making a deal for your life? If I said no to this man, you would be dead already. I had a choice: Say yes and save your life; say no and end your life. I chose yes," he says, between gritted teeth, trying desperately to keep his voice down, and his emotions in check.

He is successful with his voice, and woefully unsuccessful with his emotions. Angry tears are spilling down his cheeks, tears that only fuel that rage that is surfing inside him.

"Should I have told you? Yes, I should have," he admits. "I realize that now. But Beckett, if I had told you . . . Kate, I know you. You'd have gone all Rambo and all, everyone else be damned. You'd have gone hunting –"

"You're damn right I would have!" she counters angrily, but he continues over her words.

"They would have killed you. I know this. I knew this. And so I kept quiet. I kept quiet, and kept you away from her case," he says, eyes still burning from anger, and stinging from tears.

Tears are decorating Kate's cheeks as well – and her tears are similar. Tears of anger, tears of sadness, tears of guilt.

"You can't make those decisions for me, Castle. You have no right to –"

And it all comes undone with those words.

"What!? What!? No right!?"

He can barely contain the fury, the pure anger now. Up to this point, he has been partially angry, partially guilty, and each emotion warring heavily. That battle is now over.

"My daughter was kidnapped, shaved, and God knows what!" he thunders, he voice exploding with volume that literally forces her to step back – but she cannot, as she is already against the wall.

"Another little girl has had her innocence ripped away. An entire family is dead. A cab driver is dead. A good detective - a good man - is dead, and a doctor is dead," he continues, his voice shrilling.

"You know why they are dead, Beckett? You know why? Because I made that fucking deal for your life! Because I kept you alive! Because – as usual, God damn me – I put you before everyone, I put you above everything else, and people are dead now, because you are still alive. So don't . . . please _do not_ tell me what _right_ I do and do not have."

His words are true. They are accurate. They are also unfair. He know this, but again, that battle is done. He doesn't like her right now. He will love her for a long, long time. He knows this. But he doesn't like her today. And he knows her feeling is probably mutual.

But he doesn't care anymore. At least not today.

He opens his mouth, but no words come. Her eyes are now closed, fighting to keep her remaining tears at home, her fists clenched as she leans her head against the wall. She's angry. She's pissed. She knows he is partially right. Finally, after a few more seconds, she opens her eyes, ready to continue their . . . discussion.

He's no longer there. At least not in front of her. She glances toward the door, and he stands there, his hands in his pockets, his eyes red, from the angry tears shed. His face is flushed. Weeks from now she will weep, as it is the last memory of him she has.

"You know how I feel," he finally says, and his voice is low and barely audible. "You've known for a while."

He turns to the door, opening it, and looks back one last time. "I love you, Beckett. But I can't . . . I won't do this."

And he is gone.

**A/N:** So, this is my wrap-up point. It's a new AU created, where Scott Dunn has made more than one appearance; where Scott Dunn is responsible for Castle finding out about Kate's lie in a very different manner; where Castle has now come clean to Kate regarding his own secret. I plan on taking this AU a number of different places with stories in the future. We'll pick up on this one again sometime soon, and I will reference this story as the backdrop for any new stories in this AU. There are so many directions we can go with this, and I didn't want to rush any kind of reconciliation between Rick and Kate, because . . . well, just because

Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. I love reading your reviews. So many of you have left reviews which have led to some interesting - and sometimes truly thought-provoking - PM's. And then there is BigKahuna, whose reviews and PMs require a comfy chair, big cigar and a drink. Some of the funniest things I have heard in a long, long time come from BigK.

So again – thanks to all of you. I hope you come visit this AU again with me. Now, off to create a few more . . .

**A/N:**


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